


Dancing with Dragons

by Revenna



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Denial, F/F, Hanzo hates himself, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, Mccree is a sucker, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Versatile!hanzo, Versatile!mccree, Young Genji, Young Hanzo Shimada, Young Jesse McCree, and now jesses gotta be broke too, background genyatta - Freeform, background zenji, but he's not fixed tho, he still broke poor luv, junkrat has no filter, non-canon complying, offensive language, poor boys, reyes comes back for a minute, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:08:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9277406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revenna/pseuds/Revenna
Summary: Jesse McCree is assigned a new roommate at Base Gibraltar. Neither of them are all too agreeable, but through their fights they make each other take a long, hard look at their pasts and maybe even learn to trust again.





	1. Too Young

A comfortable breeze drifted through the pink blossoms of the cherry trees, sending flurries of petals raining down onto the rooftops in Hanamura. Moonlight filmed through wavering branches, dancing over the castle like patches of liquid silver in the calm night. However, the serenity here did nothing to calm the storm that raged within Hanzo Shimada, lightning and thunder fighting for dominance in his chest. He stood rigid on the shingles, firing arrows into the weather dial on the roof opposite his. White hot breath ravaged his lungs as he tried desperately to regain his sense of self control, but beneath his skin, dragons clawed and snarled for a release- one they almost got when the shingles clacked behind him and he whirled around, arrow nocked and lungs heaving. 

Genji stared down the shaft into his eyes and he dropped his aim, looking to the courtyard below as he placed the arrow back in its quiver. Genji hadn’t been invited when their father had demanded to speak to Hanzo, but by the knowing look he gave, he must have found somewhere to eavesdrop. Hanzo liked to tease him for being lazy, but even he couldn’t deny that his younger brother had a talent for stealth. Hanzo turned away, suddenly unwilling to meet his younger brother’s gaze in case it held judgement. 

“Otosan is being a douchebag.” There was a scowl in Genji’s voice.

“He’s doing what is best for our family,” Hanzo defended fiercely, jerking back up to look at his brother. Hanzo didn’t honestly believe himself, and clearly Genji didn’t either.

“Is misery what is best for his family?” Genji countered, green hair swept back like the parody of a movie star. Hanzo felt his mouth begin to dry as he forced some wisdom out of his own stubborn, childish defiance. 

“Father is right. It is- I am disgusting. This is something that needs to be… suppressed. It is not natural.”

“No, he is not,” Genji grunted, earning him a pointed look that he ignored. “Aniki, no matter what you do, you will always be my big brother. Don’t ever let Father whip you into something you are not.”

Hanzo hummed noncommittally and Genji stood up to lay a hand on the taller boy’s shoulder.

“You deserve happiness. It does not matter where it comes from.”

The hand lifted off his shoulder, and Genji’s presence faded a bit.

“Tell Jiyu-san I said Hello.”

A small disturbance in the air told Hanzo that his brother was gone, leaving his face burning with the lewd implication that he would be visiting Jiyu-chan that night. The idea cut loose a string on his mind that had kept it from wandering.

 

_ “I love him, father.”  _

_ Hanzo heard the smack before he felt it, spreading crackling pain across his cheek and sending him to his knees. He sucked the epicenter of pain in his lip, drawing a salty taste onto his tongue, effectively silenced. He dared look at his father through his eyelashes, vaguely aware of the bite of tears threatening to emerge. He knew better. The rush of tears was forced down his throat to be dealt with another time.  _

_ Thin but strong fingers tightened around his jaw and lifted his face so he had nowhere to look but Otosan’s eyes. They were filled with disgust, dark pits gnarled with years of wisdom and shame and fury. Hanzo felt guilt like poison leak into his veins and make him desperate not to have to look into those eyes anymore.  _

_ “I will never hear the market boy’s name again,” Otosan said, his voice like ice, “You will come to enjoy women. You are young, but next year when you are eighteen, you will marry one and bear grandchildren. You are the eldest, the heir of the Shimada legacy, and I will not have any son of mine indulge these disgusting fantasies.”  _

_ Otosan released his chin and Hanzo dropped his head, fire prickling beneath his skin in shame.  _

Happiness. He deserved that much, didn’t he? Hadn’t he been an obedient, honorable son? Didn’t he get something out of it? Anything?

The knuckles on his right hand braced around his bow while his fingers on the left danced over the string. He thought of Jiyusuke from the market and his coy grin and how easily their fingers had laced together in the privacy of the market boy’s bedroom. He thought how his eyes would light up when Hanzo would visit and share intimate jokes over the safety of the market stand, seemingly just like any other respectable man buying groceries.

His father said it was disgusting and wrong and unnatural, but he remembered that night in Jiyusuke’s bed when it had felt anything but. Under the covers, it was nothing if not beautiful and pure and right for their bodies to be sliding together, every touch like an electric shock between the two of them. He remembered how beautiful Jiyusuke had been in the pale light of the next morning, his face illuminated and his gorgeous lips bent in a frown because they both knew Hanzo had to be back before the rest of Hanamura awoke. 

He could imagine the look on his face when the messengers arrived and issued the warning that they were not to be seen together again.

Something relentless and warm squeezed in his chest and warmed his heart until he thought it might pop like a bubble. Even if Genji was wrong, and Hanzo hadn’t done anything in his life deserving of happiness, Jiyusuke had. Jiyusuke deserved his affection the same way he deserved the world and everything good in it.

Hanzo sent a half-smile towards the window of Genji’s room, knowing that there was no one to see it, and plunged over the fence into the streets below, tucking and rolling to land smoothly. His legs carried him swiftly through the alleyways, everything in his body still ablaze, but it was less like fire now, and much more like fireworks popping through his nerves. His heart raced and impulse got the best of him. For once, he didn’t care. Jiyusuke was worth every risk, every childish word, every senseless act of defiance towards his father. Hanzo knew that if he could wake up to Jiyusuke’s smile every morning, his father could never touch him. He would kill millions, die a thousand times, fight the army of every nation between here and the Atlantic ocean just for the opportunity. 

He came up on Jiyusuke’s street and slowed to a jog. His house was identified by the thick window sills that were almost completely submerged in dark, spindly trumpet vines that bloomed in periwinkle. Hanzo hoisted himself onto one and tapped on the glass, heart skipping beats. A moment later, the curtains drew back and it opened to reveal Jiyusuke. Hanzo smiled weakly- He hadn’t thought this far ahead, but the market boy seemed happy to see him. 

“Hanzo!” he whispered, and hauled him through the window by the collar on his night robe. “I’m so glad! I thought you didn’t want to see me!” 

Hanzo pressed his thumb to Jiyusuke’s chin and moved his face into the moonlight, frowning at the puffy redness around his eyes and the dampness of his cheeks. 

“Jiyu-chan…” 

Jiyusuke squeezed his hand in reassurance, and Hanzo smiled sadly. 

“You got their message then,” he said. 

“Yes. But you came anyway. It does not matter what they said.”

Hanzo felt his heart spark and he pulled Jiyusuke into an intense hug. The market boy laughed good-naturedly. 

“We must be more secretive,” Hanzo murmured sadly in his ear. Jiyusuke hummed in disagreement. 

“ _ You _ must be more secretive,” he corrected crossly, and Hanzo grunted, leaving an affectionate kiss on his ear. “Leave through the back.” 

Hanzo huffed, and pressed his face into Jiyusuke’s neck, content to just stay there and breathe until his father came and dragged him away by the scruff of his neck, but he knew he would be allowed to come back if he kept it brief. He pulled away, brushing his hand under Jiyu-chan’s jaw before he stepped towards the back window. 

“I’ll miss you,” Jiyusuke teased, and Hanzo smirked lightly, lifting himself up. 

“I love you.” 

There was no teasing there. Hanzo swallowed, deftly aware of the sound of his heart thrumming in his ribs like a caged bird, fluttering frantically and singing like it might never sing again. He felt his smile break into a full grin, and he looked over his shoulder into a pair of tawny eyes when he replied, 

“I love you too.” And then he jumped out of the window.

 

Hanzo woke again to Genji violently shaking him. He opened his mouth to complain, but Genji spoke first, urgent and quiet.

“Hanzo. Hanzo, Otosan is going to kill him! Wake up, Aniki!” Hanzo jerked up, disoriented, confused, and annoyed, but those feelings quickly waned as he realized what Genji was talking about. His stomach exploded with horror, his eyes snapping open to see that his room was just beginning to lighten with the light of dawn. 

“The courtroom,” he heard his brother’s voice distantly tell him. 

He practically sprung from his bed, night robe streaming behind him as he flew for the doorway. His feet barely touched the ground with each pounding step he took away from his room. 

Otosan could not touch Jiyusuke. Jiyusuke was far, far beyond his reach. This was another elaborate joke by Genji, and oh god he would pay for it in his chores today after Hanzo made sure that he was lying. 

Jiyusuke was home, safe in his bed, still asleep, cheek smashed gracelessly against his pillow. Hanzo slid clumsily as he turned a corner last second into a hallway that led to the courtyard, and then through the massive doors that opened up into the courtroom, where he stopped. 

His skin was ice and his blood was cold. His bones turned into lead where he stood, bare feet planted to the woodwork like a statue. Jiyusuke was on his knees in the middle of the courtroom, hands bound behind his back. His head was bowed, beautiful black locks falling over his face like a dark waterfall. 

Hanzo felt his heart stop in his chest, and he would later wonder how he hadn’t fallen over dead from heart failure. Those beautiful eyes glimmered with tears, just as they had last night, but so much more feral now that they had to look up in terror through the strands of hair at his lover, full of sorrow and fear and hate. He was going to cry out. Hanzo did it first. 

“ _ FATHER, NO! _ ” 

The string loosed, the arrow sang and Jiyusuke fell to the floor and Hanzo, to his knees. Otosan held the bow, eyes cold as he glared at his son. There were others, all of the elders who were there for security no doubt, but really, there were only three people in that room. 

His father, who had released that arrow into the back of the market boy’s head. Whose dark eyes slashed at his heart and sang of disgust that churned his stomach and set every inch of his skin into a sub zero freeze. 

Hanzo, his dragons shrieking and swirling within. His tattoo shimmered with electric blue and his vision faded in and out and he wondered if he might have been screaming, but he had no idea. Everything within him was wrenching and writhing and every muscle strained with the urge to avenge. 

And Jiyusuke, eyes cold and pale and sickly, hair cascading onto the marble floors of the courtroom. A small trickle of blood dripped onto the white from the back of his neck, but all Hanzo could see was his face. His beautiful face illuminated by the pale light of morning when they were alone in his bed.    
The one sound in the universe was his father’s voice. 

“I warned you.”

~

  
  


Jesse McCree threw the pistol down onto the table, his head swirling. Something small clawed and twisted his stomach and he was sure he was going to puke, but he forced himself to glower through his piercing headache at the slim woman in front of him. Her blue eyes raked down his body, clawing out details until her mouth twisted into a wicked grin that curled from her blood red lizard lips. 

His serape, given by his mother, was perfectly clean, but the gun barrel was still hot. His mission was simple- demonstrate his talent to the second-in-command in the Deadlock gang. That didn’t necessarily involve putting a bullet through his father’s head, but Jesse knew that if there was anyone he wanted dead, it was him. 

Regardless, the spurt of blood weighed on him like an anvil. He had only ever used his deadly seizure thing twice- once on accident when he shot his dog for scaring him (he would never forgive himself) and the last time when he had shot a Deadlock member straight through the forehead. He had expected to be hunted down and shot like a dog, have his Ma and his siblings threatened, his home ransacked. Instead, they wanted to recruit him. Wanted to know if he could do it again.

Jesse balled his hands into fists although they trembled at his sides and straightened his back bravely in the presence of Vixen, the Deadlock leader. She took her boots off of the table and looked to Grover, who was sent to supervise him. Jesse saw him give a nod from the corner of his eye. 

Vixen’s grin grew and she stood up, holding her hand out to Jesse, who was frozen in place, and although much younger than her with more growing to come, he was a few inches above her. He hesitated, tugging at his collar. He had always been a gambling man in one way or another. 

“So… What’s in this for me?”

Vixen narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t seem all too upset. 

“‘Sides yer head?” 

He grinned sheepishly and shrugged. 

“If there is anythin’.”

She snickered quietly. 

“I like you, Deadeye.” That wasn’t his name, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “You got a good head. Tell ya what.” Vixen slung her arm over his shoulder, pulling him down to her level. “I'm feelin’ generous, so I'll give ye somethin fer yer pretty little self t’ take home. Keep yer family nice an’ cozy. Keep their bellies full an’ their faces nice an’ bullet free. Sound good?”

Jesse swallowed, but at the mention of food, his mind went to little Isabelle, and his hesitation evaporated. He nodded fervently and Vixen released him. 

“Good,” she replied. “Welcome to th’ family, Deadeye.”


	2. Deuxieme

“Darlin’ please, ‘m sorry” Jesse said, head low, clutching a pillow to his chest as Gabe whirled on his toes, disappointment and agitation in his expression. His voice was quiet, but not soft. He retained a gritty, low murmur to his words as he planted his hands on the arms of the chair on either side of McCree.

“Why would you do that to me?” Gabriel growled, face solemn. “I told you I didn't like that boy.”

“Gabe, we didn't do nothin’, darlin’-”

“Cut the shit, Jesse!” Gabriel shouted, swiping his hand. Jesse flinched, but all that came was the deafening shatter of glass. Jesse opened his eyes to see the fragments of a whiskey glass littering the carpet. He stared up into his lover’s dark eyes, wondering what he had done. What could he do to fix it, to please Gabriel and make him smile again like he used to before something went wrong and Jesse fucked something up.

“I saw you with him, Jess. Saw you flirting. Don't I love you even when you fuck everything up for me? Isn’t that enough for you anymore?”

“Of course, Gabe,” McCree said, his sheepish grin long gone. “I'm sorry. I'm real sorry, there ain’t nothin between me and him. I promise I'll quit talkin’ to him, for real this time.”

Jesse felt his heart try to shred itself, torn between submission and defiance, but it had no time to make any decisions. Strong hands cupped his cheeks in a merciless, tense grip and pulled him into a harsh kiss full of hunger and passion. Gabriel’s lips were like fire. They were always like fire, half the time gentle and warm, the other half blazing and greedy. His stubble raked over Jesse's skin, leaving trails of raw feeling when he tilted his head to get a better fit, and the younger man felt his resolve melt under Gabe's commanding grip. His fingernails dug in like he was afraid that if he let go, Jesse would be getting off easy. So Jesse let himself be pulled in and ravished like a warm meal by a starving man, his heart aching for him to steal as much as he could before Gabe changed his mind and left him like a fresh cut, open and bleeding and demanding attention. He tried so hard to make it last, but Gabe pulled away quickly.  “You know I love you, don't you?”

“Yeah, Darlin’, I know.”

Gabriel purred, deep and throaty, and stroked the stubble on Jesse’s chin. He leaned in, his breath warm and gentle compared to everything else, a guilty bliss on the cold skin of McCree's neck.

"Good. You're all mine, Jesse." His fingers loosened a bit only to grasp his chin possessively. "You'll always be mine."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving McCree shivering in the aftermath. Like a ghost, Gabriel disappeared into the dark, off to his own dorm for the night. Taking what he wanted in a brief, intense flurry and then leaving Jesse to stare after him, needy and angry at himself for wanting- _needing_  Gabe to come back and assure him that he wasn't still angry.

McCree stayed in his chair for a long few minutes, aching like a fresh wound before he stood up and lit a cigar, kicking the shards of glass into the corner with the rest to either be dealt with by someone else or to remain there until the building crumbled under the weight of time. There was a time when Gabe was like his father. Jesse had no fucking clue what happened, but man was it fucked up. Gabe had always been rough around the edges, but there came a point in time when he really got bad. His temper was getting worse and he was becoming less and less sociable. Jesse was the only one he was ever willing to talk to anymore, and even he couldn't get far. Gabe was getting possessive, and not only was it bizarre and ugly, but it was downright scary at times.

Deep down, Jesse knew that there was something about their relationship that was deeply wrong, but he would do anything to have the old Gabe back. He wanted it to be like it used to. He wanted Gabe to smile for once in a way that didn't look like the devil himself watching some poor soul sign a contract. Jesse wanted him to be fucking happy again, in that distant, grouchy way that he used to.

If this was the only way, so be it. It was fucked up, but it was all he had to work with.

It wasn't all bad, either. Gabe had changed so much that it was easy to pretend that Jesse wasn't even with him, but some crazy bastard he had met a year or so ago when he started to really disappoint his commander. They had never even gone further than a kiss.

 

 

The persistent, mechanical white noise of his arm murmuring kept him awake into the small hours of night no matter how hard he focused on sleep. There was a new agent coming to Overwatch tomorrow and besides the inevitable excitement, it meant that someone was getting a roommate.

Not every dorm had survived the years of neglect that Base Gibraltar had seen, so many agents already shared their quarters. Genji and Zenyatta shared a dorm, as did Ana with her daughter, and of course Junkrat with Roadhog. Winston had been gracious enough to listen to McCree when he insisted on bunking alone.

McCree hoped to God that trend would continue. Giving him a roommate would give Gabriel a thousand different reasons to be mad at him, and even worse, the new agent was supposed to be Genji’s brother.

Gabe didn't like Genji. He didn't like his arrogance, he didn't like his shit-eating humor, he didn't like his omnic friend and he especially didn't like his influence on McCree. And he was right in that. How many times had Genji tried to convince McCree to give up Gabe? Even Zenyatta would give him a disapproving little quirk of his head and a whirr when he talked about his boyfriend. Well, it was actually hard to tell if it was disapproval. It might have just been curiosity or intrigue or any number of things, but by the way Zenyatta would hum and ask him to put Gabe off his mind for a while made Jesse think otherwise.

His heart was in the right place though, and Jesse could appreciate that even if Gabe didn't.

It's not like he had never considered breaking it off with Gabe, but that was a normal thing. Every couple had fights and he knew for a fact that everyone had considered at some point, no matter how good the relationship, leaving their partner for one reason or another. But Gabe loved him, and as long as he could believe that, he would let that love like a drug lull him to sleep every night.

He pushed his thoughts aside and pulled his covers up, but they persisted into his sleep long after he elected to ignore them. Maybe Gabe didn't still love him.

Maybe he hadn't in a long time.

 

 

_A tall, bulky beast of a man with thinning brunette hair and a perpetual beer in his hand rose from the sunken, abused cushion of his armchair. His arms were like tree trunks, his legs like logs. He stomped towards a petite woman with dark skin and silky black hair that bore premature grey stripes at the temple. It was tied in a bun that bobbed loosely when she turned her head away from the orc. A loud noise boomed out of his chest. He was saying something, but the meaning was lost on the deaf ears of the bystander who watched, too small, too dumb to understand.  
A quiet murmur from the lady, impossibly melodic even though it was full of fear. She was begging for something. She motioned towards Jesse and the orc roared angrily, snatching her hands and pinning her to the wall.  _

_Jesse shouted some meaningless noise at him and charged, unused to being so short and clumsy, but full of fury. He balled his fists and hammered them down on the orc's legs despite the lady's screaming for him to stop. A colossal hand pulled back and swung, and Jesse could swear that the orc was no longer there, and it was Gabriel in front of him. Lightning struck suddenly as Jesse felt the blow land, setting the dim house ablaze in a blinding wash of white light, everything tangible suddenly decimated in the explosion._

Jesse gulped in a breathe of air as he snapped up out of bed, his skin damp and cold while his muscles burned. His mechanical hand was clamped instinctively over his heart, the sensors popping almost silently as they detected his heartbeat. It was rapid firing in his chest like Junkrat if anyone ever gave him an automatic. McCree let his breath began to slow, gradually coming back down to normal from within the shaking. He ran a hand over his forehead, which was slick with sweat. 

He looked at his wrist. 3:46 A.M. 

McCree sighed slowly and pulled his knees to his chest. Four hours of sleep was enough for the night. 

 

~

 

Hanzo stepped over the threshold of the dorm, nose wrinkling as his eyes wandered around his new home. It smelled like cigars and blood, and the many stains proved that it was a hard-earned stench. The main room had plain white walls and carpet that might have been a similar color at one time, but had seen a few too many years of honest-to-god battle to uphold any shininess. There was almost no furniture- just a single creaky wooden kitchen chair, a microwave on a fold-out table, and a monitor in one corner of the room. He leaned forward to see the only other room- not much more than a walk-in closet with one cot in use and the other folded against the wall. Next to said cot stood his roommate, who frowned at him from under, god help him, a real life cowboy hat.

He was a handsome man with bright, tawny eyes that almost shone like gold from beneath the shade on his face. His pink lips were puckered a little bit in a natural pout, but they were outlined by a rugged carpet of hair that was intentionally styled to look shabby. He leaned against the wall, tipping his hat grimly to Hanzo, who tilted his head. The man- McCree, as he'd been informed- was wary of him. Hanzo walked and McCree idly wandered a few steps away. Hanzo tried to strike up a conversation and McCree frowned at him like he just insulted him. Hanzo had made the mistake of sneezing in the hallway and brushing up against him, causing his hand to snap to his gun.

He had seen many news stories about the famed McCree, but skittish was not that first word that came to mind when thinking of that fabled vigilante.

Hanzo didn't want to try and ask him any questions, especially not now that they were alone and the cowboy seemed to loom from the shadows like a wolf near a campfire. Even with his ridiculous cowboy hat and serape, his presence was formidable. 

"So... ye can have the bedroom, if ye'd like." 

"No, thank you."

"Take it," McCree insisted immediately. It was a demand, not an offer. Hanzo scowled, his stubbornness getting the best of him. 

"No."

" _Take it."_

Hanzo folded his arms and scowled deeper, an obvious no. McCree narrowed his eyes, taking a long, long drawl from his spicy-smelling cigar and blowing the smoke straight into Hanzo's face. He was unfortunate enough to be breathing in just then, so the fumes singed his throat and pulled his vocal chords tight for a few seconds until he coughed it out, vigorously swatting the remained of the cloud away from him. When he regained himself, he stood up straight and had to sink his fingernails into the skin on his palm to keep him from taking a swing at the prick.

"Asshole," he settled for a deep hiss, dragons absolutely fucking livid within him/

"Fine," McCree drawled deeply, and took the folded cot out into the living room, presumably to set it up for Hanzo. 

Hanzo took a step towards the door to follow McCree, only to be met with a rush of air as it was slammed shut. His hand was on the knob just as he heard the distinctive click of a lock. He stopped for a second. Jiggled the doorknob, tried to turn it, jiggled it again. 

"Open the door," Hanzo growled from between clenched teeth.

"Yer takin the room." 

"McCree."

"Hanzo."

"It's Hanzo."

"'S what I said."

"No," Hanzo fumed," you said Hand-zo."

"Same thing."

Hanzo threw his head into the door, which rattled loosely in response.

"I will take the bedroom. Jesse McCree, open the door." 

The doorknob clicked immediately, and Hanzo opened the door, his fists rising to fight before he realized McCree was glaring at him rather than shining him a shitty grin. He stared at Hanzo like he didn't trust him to hold up his end of the bargain. Like he might set something on fire at any moment, or worse, refuse to take the bedroom.

"Do you trust all strangers so easily?" Hanzo asked, tone sleek but biting, like a carving knife. "Or am I special?"

"Yer a kin-killer," Jesse replied, taking another drawl. "Ye killer yer brother." 

"So are you, Cowboy," Hanzo sliced back, going straight to katana. "At least I had the decency to fail." 

The change in McCree was almost immediate, from brooding to rabid. His metal hand clamped around the wrist of his other as if to hold it back as he advanced towards Hanzo, who kept his head high, staring intensely into those tawny eyes. Sparks jumped from McCree's metal arm. 

"Weren't none a those bastards my family," he seethed, "Not a single miserable soul."

Hanzo stared at him, unmoved by the screaming, but now rather intrigued. Public word was that the Deadlock Gang had been like family to him, and besides that, he shot his own father. 

"You shot your father." 

"I shot the man that gave me life."

"Yes. Your father." 

McCree put his cigar out on his metal shoulder, letting the last bit of smoke pool out of his mouth as he slumped into the only chair in the room. It groaned unhappily beneath him and he sighed in defeat.

"Yea. M' father."

Hanzo watched him stomp on the cot's frame from his chair to straighten it on on the main room floor, palming his eyelids. Hanzo returned into the bedroom and did the same, folding his hands in front of his mouth. 

Jesse McCree was... probably a madman. So goes that saying. Don't meet your heroes. 

That made Hanzo laugh. Heroes. McCree wished.

He laid back on the open cot with his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, remembering a day a long time ago when he first heard the name Jesse McCree.

 

_Hanzo threw himself onto his bed and groaned into a pillow, a hoard of rats chewing at his ribs in guilt._

_There was a young mother out in the courtroom right now. Her children were huddled obediently behind her, staring around in fear at the looming figures of the Shimada clan that supervised the court like vultures, watching, waiting for another's fate to devour so that they could reap the misfortune. She had tears in her eyes, but stood tall and proud when she looked into Otosan's eyes and asked him to give her more time on her debt. Hanzo had been there for that, but his father had dismissed him now because he insisted on showing mercy. He was sitting in his room pouting like a child in time out, and he threw his pillow at his door with a frustrated grunt to further prove that._

_There was an American woman on his television chattering about crime, and he turned to look at the screen, unsurprised to see the American News network his father paid to have. He had at least one for every country, with more than three for places like America, Russia, and China._

_There was a video of a man with an honest-to-god cowboy hat and Mexican cape thingy that Hanzo didn't know the name of, with the headline at the top of the screen reading "Deadeye McCree strikes again!"_

_He huffed angrily and folded his arms, begrudgingly intrigued._

_"Video evidence shows that the alleged rapist was standing outside of a coffee shop, appearing to be waiting for someone when out of nowhere, a bullet hits him right in the middle of the forehead and kills him instantly. This appears to be the work of the infamous Jesse 'Deadeye' McCree, who has evaded local law enforcement for over four months. Rob, thoughts?"_

_The screen switched to a man in a collared shirt with messy hair._

_"Jessica, if the eyewitnesses are right and there's some sixteen year old kid out there with a gun who does a better job than our police departments, then we need to stop looking at his record and start looking to law enforcement. Why are we wasting all this man power in the police department to track down one kid with a pistol when crime rates are the highest they've ever been recorded in America?"_

_Hanzo stared at the tiny pixelated cowboy, his interest piqued._

_Here was this boy his age, and he was breaking rules- not just breaking rules, but important rules, ones with dire consequences, and he didn't do it for money or respect or even love. He did it because he thought it was the right thing to do._

Hanzo blinked, dragged back to reality by the sound of the door closing as McCree left the dorm.

That woman might still be alive today, he realized, if he had ever been so brave.


	3. Awol

The team had been sitting around for what had seemed like eons before a mission presented itself. 

Hanzo was finding Watchpoint Gibraltar to be a relatively slow place. Hotter than the seventh level of hell, sure, but homey, and full of friendly people. Well, friendly enough. There were a few die-hard grouches hellbent on keeping him at a distance, and that was fine, because he was certain he was one of them. 

Lena, Hana, Lucio, Fareeha, Ana, Winston, and Zarya all seemed relatively willing to get along with him. Genji- or more accurately, the machine that thought it was Genji- was distant, but his omnic friend was a little too comfortable. Always trying to get Hanzo to talk about himself or Genji, or make small talk. It seemed programmed to be non-invasive and only gave him gentle pushes to talk, but for whatever reason, it annoyed the hell out of him. 

The junkers kept their distance for the most part, except one time he found a stick of dynamite at his seat in the cafeteria with a little bow on it, which he now had in his room under his bed. He supposed that was a peace offering, so he was on good terms with them. Thank God for that, he didn't want to have any kind of beef with those two. One was crazy and the other one had 170 pounds on him and didn't really seem to like anyone but his hyperactive companion. 

There were still a few who didn't like him, though. Soldier 76, for one, seemed pretty apathetic towards him, even though Hana assured Hanzo that he was always like that to everyone. Reinhardt always looked at him with distrust and disapproval, since he was apparently the only one who remembered what Hanzo had done to his brother, so Hanzo avoided him. Torbjorn was equally as cold, though his seemed more like a general grouchiness, and Gabriel Reyes was honestly just kind of scary. There wasn't really any underlying hope that they would come to terms. Reyes just acted... evil? Hanzo would compare him to an attack dog on a constant leash, but he could never pin down what exactly that metaphorical leash was. Humanity, maybe. 

The biggest scourge on his existence here, however, was still his roommate, Asshat McCree. Not only was he shabby, irrational, jumpy, evasive, disagreeable, and smart-alecky, but he also had the audacity to be pretty. 

Under the shade of a cowboy hat and the scruff that accumulated on his face from being unkempt, his jaw was chiseled, his nose narrow, and his eyes set deep. They were dark, too, a mocha shade of deep brown. In Hanzo's younger, dumber days, McCree would have been a prime target for his... less honorable, undignified impulses.

He shoved the distasteful thought out of his mind and wound a strand of hair around his finger. The book in front of him was a history of Overwatch, but more factual and less embellished. This one had come from somewhere in the Watchpoint, so it wasn't just another package for bias. Its pages were old and felt stiff in his hands, but they gave off that book smell that sent him back to some peaceful days in his old personal library. He turned the page just as Athena's voice came on. 

"Agents of Overwatch, report to the flight deck for briefing." 

She was never too in-depth. He sighed and snapped the book shut, plucking his bow off the table and slinging it over his shoulder. People around him chattered with intrigue as they all moved towards the door. 

He couldn't help but feel the excitement, too. This would be his first mission. A chance to prove himself, and release some of the restlessness that had built up from being stuck on base. 

 

It was a simple enough escort mission; The payload would be controlled remotely from the airship by Winston while the rest of the team fended off Los Muertos. Lucio wasn't thrilled that he had to help out LumeriCo, who had known ties with Vishkar, but he understood the need for energy, especially in the cities. 

Hanzo would be positioned in the buildings above, keeping watch for any gang members trying to sneak their way onto the payload. The nuclear core wouldn't last a minute if they got hold of it. McCree and "Genji" would be playing a similar role, though on ground level, and Hana, Bastion, Zenyatta, Reyes, Soldier 76, and the Junkers would be on the payload itself, playing defense for the few who made it past. 

Hanzo had no intention of that happening. He boosted himself onto a rooftop, feet silent on the adobe as he ran with his team towards the payload. Nobody was getting past his impeccable aim. Not if he could help it. 

As promised, the vehicle was waiting for them in a discrete garage full of boxes, some of which had to be tossed aside to haul it out. Hana popped out of her mech for a moment to fix the remote control receiver in place, then activated self-defense mode, and just like that, it was ready to go.  Hanzo put his back to the wall, and peered over his shoulder out the window at the payload. All was quiet, but subtlety was important with his role. The longer he could go undetected, the better. 

"Everybody in position?" Soldier 76's voice ground out through the earpiece, gritty and low. 

"Affirmative," Hanzo replied. 

"Yep." 

He grit his teeth. "Yep." Did McCree even take this seriously, or was he just trying to get a reaction? Hanzo entertained himself with the thought that he had an excellent shot at McCree's face if he got too annoying. 

"McCree, tighten up," Soldier commanded, and Hanzo shot him a shitty grin. He knew he saw it, too, because McCree pouted at him from on top of the payload. That was probably the handsomest he ever looked- His hair wind tossed, gun drawn, hips forward, colorful, bright lights bouncing off the highlights of his cheekbones, and a pout on his plush lips. Soldier 76 interrupted his thoughts. "Move out."

Hanzo was allowed to think McCree was handsome. That was just common sense, not even his personal opinion. 

 

The payload shuffled along at an agonizingly slow pace. It was for the safety of the residents of Dorado, but it was torture to watch it hover slowly over the pavement under the threat of Los Muertos. Surely it could stand to move a little faster. Fifteen miles per hour instead of ten. Eleven. 10.01. Anything.  Just faster. 

The little hovercraft began turning a corner and Hanzo left his position for a new one, further ahead. The streets were still silent beneath the quiet hum of the payload until a gunshot popped and the episode began. He picked up his pace to a sprint, determined not to miss out on anything. Reinhardt stood in front of the payload with his shield up, though it was already cracked from how many guns were aimed at it. There must have been sixteen of them opening fire on the team below. He loosed arrow after arrow, cursing when all of them missed, and planted themselves in shoulders or chests instead of skulls. 

His dragons weren't ready yet. He couldn't force them out, either. It was up to them to help him on their own accord when they decided he deserved it. He gritted his teeth and began to loose another when a bullet whistled past his ear, and he threw himself back into cover behind a stack of boxes. 

Suddenly, a familiar, but abnormally silky voice growled out over the comm. 

"It's high noon," McCree purred, and a quick crackle broke the air. Were those gunshots? They were all fired at the same moment. Hanzo leaned out to see five more dead bodies laying in front of McCree. He shrank back into his hiding spot, face paling. He had heard Jesse could shoot fast, but nobody told him it was that fast. The dragons were seemingly just as intrigued, as they suddenly stirred, and Hanzo thanked him silently, if begrudgingly, for his talent.

"It is about nine thirty in the evening," Hanzo corrected snarkily and began shouting before McCree got the chance to defend himself. " _Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!_ "

Blue dragons spiraled out from in front of him, sparking and snarling, massive jaws snapping to devour any and all in their path. The familiar sense of celestial power overcame him,and Hanzo jumped out from his window onto the payload, a new arrow knocked. It found its mark on the one unfortunate straggler who scrambled away from the devastation behind him. He fell to the ground, the shaft standing from the back of his neck. 

Hanzo panted heavily, his senses coming back down from overdrive and exhausting him, reminding him why he had to be careful about summoning the dragons. He felt his knees trying to give out and he tried to play it off by leaning casually against the nuclear core. Regardless, it earned a long, impressed whistle from McCree. "Pretty handy with that bow."

Hanzo felt his ears turn pink, and he was stunned for an appropriate response that wasn't "thank you," so he shrugged noncommittally. McCree was vastly different on the battlefield. More at ease, Hanzo noticed curiously. He liked this McCree much more than his snappy, skittish roommate, but it begged the question of why? Why was he more calm getting shot at than having to meet a new companion?

"I have never seen someone shoot so quickly with a gun," Hanzo replied curtly, his way of avoiding a direct compliment. McCree winked at him from beneath the shadow of his hat, and Hanzo's face blazed. He was forced to turn away now, and without another word, hopped off the payload to rush up a wall and find a new vantage point, damned be his exhaustion. 

He watched from above as Reyes jumped onto the payload and viciously shoved McCree off of it. Jesse landing on his ass in the dirt and laughed, but it wasn't genuine. If anything, Hanzo would call it nervous. 

Old, familiar feelings were stirring. He was not going to flirt with the idea that McCree was flirting with him, and he was sure as hell not going to flirt back. There would be no flirting of any sort between anyone or anything. No. He was not a degenerate, he could abstain from scratching that itch that told him he should be with a man. It was an itch all too familiar to him. If anyone could fight it, it was Hanzo Shimada, once-heir to the criminal empire in Hanamura. He was so much more than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd.*

He was a dragon, and he was wiser and stronger than that. 

 

~

 

Jesse sat in his seat on the aircraft, his knee bouncing fervently. His eyes were glued to the floor because he knew that when he looked up, he would see Gabriel's scowl. The guilt was already eating at him, but he knew that Gabe's scowl would finish him off for good. He hadn't meant to flirt with Hanzo, especially not on a mission, in front of Gabe, so soon after the Genji incident. He hadn't meant to, but he did it anyway. Why did he do that?

Hanzo was hot in all the right ways. Every inch of him seemed carved from marble, and in battle he was like a statue come to life. He was dark, and mysterious, but he also managed to be cute in the way that his ears pinkened when he received a compliment, or when he stuck his tongue out a little bit when he was focused. 

Jesse was immediately mad with himself for thinking about it. But not as mad as Gabe was going to be. 

 

He was "invited" back to Gabriel's quarters that night, and he was suddenly yearning for the days when they all slept on a cot in one single bunker. He didn't want to have to face his lover tonight. 

Gabe was waiting for him in the doorway. All of the lights were on, but the room was silent except for the tapping of Gabe's fingers on the counter. 

"Jesse," he growled lowly. 

"'M sorry," Jesse said on impulse, and immediately regretted it as a vase or a glass flew past him and shattered on the wall behind him. 

"Shut up!" Gabe shouted, and stormed towards him.   
"Gabe, hun, sweetums, I'm sorry, I-"

He broke off as a hand whipped across his cheek, knocking him to the floor. The entire left half of his face stung, and he resisted the urge to spit out the tinny blood that pooled in his mouth. 

"You fuckin' winked at him, you little slut," Gabe raged, and Jesse cowered. God, he had fucked up. He didn't dare talk. "Get the fuck out of my sight! I don't wanna hear you, see you, or think about you for the rest of the night!"

Jesse stood up slowly, and took a few slow steps back towards the door before booking it. Tears stung the backs of his eyelids as he ran to get back to the safety of his room. 

Fuck. His room. He couldn't go back when Hanzo was in there. 

Why? A tiny voice asked him, and he stopped at the end of the hall. 

Why? Why are you always trying to make him happy? Why do you go to all these lengths? Why isn't he ever satisfied? Why do you still try? Why did it have to be you? Why did Hanzo have to show up and ruin everything? Why couldn't anything go as planned? Why did Reyes have to make it weird in the first place? Why couldn't they just be family again? 

Why was he still standing in front of his own door, waiting for permission from a monster to go to sleep?

He pushed it open and stepped inside, surprised to find that Hanzo was making food. McCree tilted his hat downwards a bit to hide the bruising on the other side of his face. 

"Whatch'ya workin on?" he asked, even though all the life was drained from his voice right now. 

Hanzo cast him a curious look, and eyed him before answering. 

"Hibachi steak." 

"Neat."

There were a few moments of silence before Hanzo spoke again. 

"How do you like your steak?" 

Jesse stopped, and lifted his chin a bit. 

"You gonna make me some, too?" he asked, baffled. 

"Mine is already done," Hanzo replied nonchalantly. "This is yours."

Jesse looked at the frying pan, full of half-cooked steak. Onions and peppers had already been cut up along with broccoli, and there was a pot of rice boiling. The smell was extravagant, and it wasn't until Jesse paid attention to the aroma that he realized how hungry he was. The smell of it brought him down from his distress just a little bit. He really didn't know what to say. He thought they had a mutual disliking of one another, but here Hanzo was making dinner for him. 

"Medium well," he said, and settled for, "Thanks," then sat down on his cot. Hanzo brought it over when he was done, and to Jesse's surprise, sat down next to him. He didn't really have the strength to argue, so he just shoved some food in his mouth. 

"This's d'licious," he said, perkier, his mouth stuffed. He didn't look over, but he could feel the judgment radiating off of his roommate like heat. On the other hand, there was nothing but genuine appreciation in Hanzo's voice when he replied, "Thank you." 

They ate in silence for the rest of the meal, which was perfectly fine. It was peaceful, and quiet, and dark, and for once, McCree didn't feel like he needed to say anything, even if there was plenty they could talk about. At the end of the meal, Hanzo collected the dishes, set them in the sink, and went to his room without another word. 

Jesse watched him leave, and the image of Hanzo outlined in moonlight brought him back to the mission, where the archer had done acrobatics in the colorful lights of the festival. It made him wonder if the Dragon had ever learned to dance the way the people in the streets of Dorado did. 

Hanzo was graceful and striking- he would make a wonderful dancer. 


	4. The Wolf and The Coyote

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Junkrat's not really homophobic, despite all the synonyms for "the infamous f-word." As far as he's concerned, there's really not a difference between offensive terms and regular terms for that kind of stuff because he's never heard anyone called just "gay". It's always one of the words he uses in this chapter.   
> So it's not his morals, but his shitty vocabulary and lack of sensitivity.   
> Even if he himself is a little gay boy.

The next day, Jesse McCree did not come out of his room.

He acted like Hanzo had not noticed the bruises that lit his cheekbone in violet. Like he was blind to the red that etched itself into the lines on Jesse's lips in the form of blood leaking from his mouth and crusting at the edge. Maybe he honestly didn't know that Hanzo knew. Maybe he didn't care whether Hanzo saw it or not. Either way, he had not offered any explanation and Hanzo had not asked for one.

At the very least, Hanzo was glad he had picked last night to be nice. McCree had come in looking like a kicked puppy, but after a warm meal, he seemed a bit more at peace. 

Hanzo sat in the commons chewing on a bit of overcooked grilled cheese, a shitty American substitute for an actual meal, but it was the courtesy of Fareeha, so he dare not complain. 

He continued his thought on McCree, who only perplexed him more with each day he knew the man. He didn't want to ask him about his absence last night. He knew from experience that wasn't going to work, especially if McCree lost the fight he got into. 

Jesse's friends, however, had much looser lips. He was scouting them out now as he took another bite of his sandwich. Hana would be willing enough to help him, but only with probable cause. Junkrat or Jamison or whatever the hell he went by would be more than happy to gossip about the cowboy, but...

The thing was, Hanzo thought he was fluent in English until he met Junkrat. He only understood about half of what came out of the crazy man's mouth. Lena might, but she, too, would want a good reason. 

Hanzo wanted information on McCree. He did not want to seem too interested. Otherwise he might as well march around and squawk like a worried hen. Which he definitely wasn't. Just burning with curiosity. 

Looks like Jamison was his best option. He finished off the last bit of his food, deposited his plate at the lunch counter, and walked up to their table in a manner that he hoped looked professional and collected. 

He didn't have to clear his throat to get them to look up. Junkrat's expression exploded with glee to see him, and the blond man slammed his hands down on the table. Hanzo did his best not to flinch.

"Oy! Lookie 'ere, Roadie! The bloke's finally come around an' finished waggin' on us! How's it, mate?"

Hanzo blinked at him in confusion. Most of those words were English, right? 

"Fine," he replied stiffly. "I wanted to ask if you knew anything about the cowboy." 

Not that either of them asked, but he thought it best to get straight to the point before he heard any more new vocab and got too deep into a conversation that he didn't even understand. 

"McCree? How come? You AC/DC, mate? A pansy? Arse bandit?" 

Hanzo didn't even try to hide his confusion, throwing his hands up and giving Junkrat an expressively baffled look. Jamison planted his elbow on the table, waving his fork at Hanzo, and added, mouth full of grilled cheese,"Look, mate, what I'm tryna ask ya is if yer a poofter." 

"I just- I have no idea what- It doesn't matter," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I wanted to ask if you knew where he was last night." 

Junkrat let out a cackle and slapped his large companion on the arm. 

"What'd I tell ya, Roadie, the dill's a total poof!" 

Roadhog slapped him on the back of the head, impossibly gentle for the size of his hand, and Junkrat let out an indignant chuff, fixing his hair, if you could call that fixed. 

"Language," Roadhog said, his voice a deep, deep rumble in his chest. Hanzo filed that away for memory- "poof" was apparently a bad word. 

Junkrat cackled again, then leaned over the table, urgently motioning Hanzo forward. He leaned towards him cautiously, not fully trusting the other man's stability. 

"Well, ya see, McCree an' the gnarly lookin' bloke he hangs aroun' with? They been bashin' for a long while now." 

"No," Roadhog interjected. 

"Alright, but they been... y'know. Together. The kissy-kissy stuff. Problem is, Reaper, or whatever th'ell 'e calls 'imself, ain't fixed yet, y'know? He's still off his rocker. Total fruit loop. Ya don' just face death a thousand times an' come back happy as a clam, now do ya?" 

Hanzo furrowed his eyebrows, jaw still dropped as he tried to process this new information. He knew that they were together, but he didn't know it was public knowledge. There were others like him and Jiyu-chan that were open? The thought pierced him through the chest like an arrow, and suddenly he was a teenage bleeding heart again. Was that okay here? Was being... like _that_ acceptable to these people? 

He honestly didn't know if he should be elated or disgusted. Everything in his body wanted to rejoice that he could be... himself? Who he felt he should be? But... it was wrong, wasn't it? Why did they, too, not try with all their might to squash those shameful urges? 

He wanted desperately to ask, to know if that was fine. He could have reached out, grabbed Junkrat by the shoulders and shook him until he gave him a response, the one he wanted. But he did not risk it. That was an investigation to be saved for later. Right now, he still wanted to know where Jesse was last night. 

"And?"

"And?" Junkrat asked, giving him a look. He nudged Roadhog again. "Take a look at this tosser, ay, Roadie? He was payin' the scary bloke a visit! They were makkin' it up in Reaper's place." Junkrat made a kissy face as if to accentuate his point. It was a needed cue anyway, otherwise Hanzo would have no idea what he was saying. He put a hand to his forehead, and with a muttered, "Thank you very much for your time," turned around. 

Behind him, he heard Junkrat giggling. "What'd I tell ya?" he said, only to receive a grunt in reply. 

Hanzo rushed back towards his room, suddenly on sensory overload. He felt like everything was tingling. He needed to do something immediately or else risk his patience. 

Jesse McCree and Gabriel Reyes were in a relationship. This seemed to be common knowledge, and there was... not a problem with this? And last night, McCree had gone to Gabriel, and returned with bruises and a bloody lip. There had to be a problem at that point. He didn't realize he was angry until he felt the sting of his nails in his palm. 

Hanzo shook his head and turned the corner towards the practice range, since he already had his bow handy. 

He expected some kind of pity to arise at the thought of Jesse getting backhanded, or at least smugness, but all that arose was a cold fury that gripped him to the bone. 

He stormed out of the door into the sunshine and immediately shot an arrow into the face of a training bot. He wanted to hate McCree for being an ass, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not now that he knew what went on behind closed doors. It made sense, didn't it? 

Another arrow into another training bot. 

He remembered the other night when McCree had winked at him. He thought he imagined the flirtatious intentions, but he remembered how Gabriel had angrily pushed him off the payload, and it just clicked. He didn't just looked angry- he looked jealous. He had looked at Jesse like he owned him, like Jesse was all his. 

Hanzo shot the next arrow with a lot more force than needed, and it sent the training bot off of the cliff, plummeting down into the sea. It screamed, and he rushed over, staring down at the water with wide eyes. 

Oops.  

They didn't program the training bots to feel fear, right? They felt pain, sure, since every time you hit one, it would say "ow," but... 

He slung his bow back over his shoulder hurriedly and hurried back inside to go fetch Fareeha. The mechanical scream stuck with him, making him sick the entire way. 

 

 

About two hours later, Tracer had the thing back up and running, although it spluttered and coughed with the effort of hovering around the practice range. 

"He's just a bit rough now, luv. He'll be alright," she had assured Hanzo, and he made it a point to thank her before he returned inside again, done with the practice range for the day. He would have to find somewhere else to relieve the endless buzzing that was beginning to make him restless. 

 _Think,_ he reminded himself, _what did you used to do_?

 

It was years ago when Jiyusuke was murdered. 

That day, something in both Hanzo and Genji had changed. Hanzo would never again willingly disobey his father or bring dishonor on their clan. Not for many years to come. Genji, on the other hand, only grew feral. He had no reason to obey. No ammunition that could be used against him. Genji was impervious to their father's wrath- or so he thought for a long time until that fateful day that Hanzo proved just how obedient a son he intended on being. 

But before that, before Hanzo had murdered his kin and forever severed that bond- those were the days that Genji and him would talk freely. They talked about the future a lot. Genji would always test his patience and Hanzo would always threaten to embarrass him with the many stories he had from their childhood, but it was all in good fun. One time, when Genji was still in Junior High, he had a crush on a girl from a public school, and even if Genji was tutored at home, he wanted it to work out, so he wanted to dye his hair. The problem was, he was grounded at the time for replacing their father's expensive shampoo with hair removal cream. So Genji had talked Hanzo into going out and buying the girl's favorite color in hair dye. 

Genji had taken the blame, but there were no consequences. Because Genji was not the heir. He was allowed to make mistakes and behave recklessly. 

Those were the days that Hanzo still had someone to talk to. Genji had gotten a crude tattoo on his neck that week, purposely broken things, and let hell rain down in that house for months afterwards in revenge for Hanzo's loss. And in turn, when Genji became too much for their father to handle, Hanzo killed him. Genji had fought for him, and to show his grattitude, Hanzo put his sword through his stomach. And his neck. And his shoulders and hips and legs and arms and face. He had butchered his little brother. He had not only murdered him, but in his fit of hysteria, he had all but torn him apart piece by piece until he was little more than a pile of meat in the vague shape of a human body. 

 

He shuddered deeply at the memory. He could not talk to Genji anymore. Genji was dead, along with all of the fury he could hold towards Hanzo. What was left was a few leftover limbs and the empty shell of human emotion. The Genji he knew would not forgive him. He would not meditate in the sun or sit quietly to talk with an omnic nine hours out of the day. Genji, the real one that died in Hanamura, was all fire and energy and obnoxious little brother. Not a monk. 

A monk. Zenyatta was programmed for this, was he not? He could not bare to face the machine that was once his brother, but there was no harm in talking to an omnic who would, supposedly, not tell anyone if Hanzo asked it not to. 

 

He found Zenyatta in the courtyard, alone, surprisingly. Hanzo cleared his throat at it. Zenyatta was always giving him gentle nudges to talk to it, so he supposed it would be easy to get it to listen. 

"Hanzo," Zenyatta said. Its voice told Hanzo that it was pleased to see him. "It is a beautiful afternoon, yes?"

"I came to talk," Hanzo said curtly, then added as a precaution, "But you must not tell anyone what is said here today."

Zenyatta's orbs did a quick spin before settling down again in a way that made Hanzo think of an inquisitive gesture, but he didn't say anything that would backup that thought. 

"Of course. My lips are sealed."

Hanzo couldn't tell if that was supposed to be a joke or not, so he huffed noncommittally and sat down on a rock next to the omnic, who stared at him, somehow expectant even without a proper face for expression. Hanzo rubbed his thumbs together anxiously. He really shouldn't be nervous. He knew that. He was talking to an omnic, but somehow, he felt that it was going to be more personal that he wanted to get. With anyone. Ever. 

Regardless, he took a big breathe and began. 

"Is... Can I..." He broke off with a sigh of frustration and rubbed his forehead. The omnic was silent, but he still felt like it was judging him. He could feel the heat in his ears rising already. "Is it... normal... for a human man..." 

He broke off again. Why in hell would an omnic know what was normal for humans? Just from the beginning of his phrase, he wondered if Zenyatta was getting uncomfortable. It sounded like he was going to ask him something extremely naive and unsavory. Which he was. But not that particular kind of unsavory. But goddamnit he had already started to say it and if he backed out now, Zenyatta would be left thinking he was going to ask something stupid about human male anatomy, which he had no doubt the omnic knew about, but he sure as hell didn't want him- it- to think that about him, so now he had dug himself into a hole. He had no choice but to continue with his question, so he sucked in and spat it all out in a nearly-incoherent mash of words. 

"Is it normal here for human men to be intimate, like a man and a woman usually are?"

There were a few heartbeats of silence, and Hanzo glared at the ground, desperately avoiding eye contact. Camera contact. Whatever. 

And then, just like that, Zenyatta let out a mechanical little chuckle, and Hanzo jerked his head up to send him a fierce glare. 

"It is very commonplace," Zenyatta said, as if his mind was somewhere else. "I know many at this very base who are, indeed, just as you describe." 

Hanzo froze, staring at the omnic, who had turned to look straight ahead again. 

"Like who?" 

"That, I can not answer," it replied. "It is not my place. You may ask Genji. He may tell you." 

Hanzo growled in frustration. Everyone was so hellbent on getting him to talk to his brother? Fine. Fuck it. 

"I will," he replied pointedly, and stood up, marching off to go find the cyborg ghost of Genji. 

 

~

 

McCree didn't come out of his room until late at night. He had been in bed since last night, avoiding Gabe, avoiding Hanzo, and avoiding everybody else who might see the bruise on his cheek. But around ten, his hunger finally got the best of him, and he wandered down to the kitchen to grab dinner. 

He still felt like shit. Not the kind that leaves you body-achey and nauseous, but the kind that makes you wonder if you should eventually get out of bed and eat or just lay there and rot. His stomach was begging him to eat something, and he hoped he could find the strength to appease it.

All that was in the company fridge was a can of peaches, some milk, and a fuckton of tuna, and McCree hated tuna with a passion, so he ended up trudging back to his room, stuffing peach slices into his mouth every few steps. He finished the last bit off just as he reached his door, and he was surprised to find Hanzo there, hugging a pillow to his chest and staring into the floor intensely. Jesse didn't even get the chance to open his mouth. 

"Genji is in love with the masculine omnic," Hanzo said, not taking his eyes off the ground in front of him. 

McCree stared at him. He cuckled, and it turned into an episode until he was keeled over himself wheezing with laughter. Hanzo glared at him now, murder in his eyes. 

"Ya didn't know?" Jesse asked between his howling. 

Hanzo remained silent, but his glare sharpened, and Jesse laughed harder. He had to sit down so he wouldn't fall over. When he finally calmed down enough to speak, he looked back up to meet the daggers that were Hanzo's dark eyes. 

"Yeah, yer brother's hella gay. Well, bisexual, I think, but," he broke off to chuckle again. 

"This is not funny," Hanzo insisted, rising to his feet. "Our father would never have let this happen."

Jesse looked up at him, all laughter gone from him now. Hanzo turned away, high-key pouting when he realized that McCree was studying him. For the first time, McCree wondered about him, and he could feel the wheels turning in his head. That would explain all the mixed signals he was getting- not that he should be paying attention to them, but he recognized flirting when he saw it, goddamn it. 

He dared open his mouth again, although he hesitated before speaking. 

"Hanzo... are you-?" 

" _No._ " Hanzo seethed at him, a little too quickly and a little too harshly. McCree felt his heart twist in his chest. Hanzo turned his back on him long before he could find something to say, and made for the bedroom door. 

"Wait," McCree said, and Hanzo paused. 

There he was again, like a proper dragon, his shoulders back, his chin high, muscles tense, but a pained scowl plagued his sharp face. What do you even say in this situation? McCree took a huge fucking leap of faith, like one of those circus people who dove into kiddie pools from a hundred feet in the air. 

"I just wanted t' say... Yer safe. Here, I mean. Me n' Gabe, the scary guy in the hoodie... We're together, 'n case ya didn't know." 

Hanzo didn't respond to that. He just closed his eyes and went into his room, locking the door behind him. 

Jesse let out a sigh, and rubbed his forehead. What had he said wrong?

 

The next day was spent trying to appease Gabriel. They spoke in hushed tones at the lunch table, and McCree thanked heaven that they were in public. He never liked being alone with Gabe. 

"I just don't understand why ya gotta be so possessive, hun," he said, only to earn an infuriated snarl from Gabe. 

"Is this _possessive_ to you, Jesse?!" he hissed, grappling at the seams of Jesse's serape, "Maybe I just don't like you ungrateful little slut  _whoring_ yourself to the first man or woman who gives you a _second glance!_ "

Jesse shrank into himself, wanting to close his eyes, but not daring to. Gabe had the same look in his eyes as he did two nights ago, when he had lost his temper. Jesse guessed that he only abstained now because they were in public. 

McCree shut his mouth, and kept it shut for the rest of lunch, keeping his eyes on his plate. "Let me get that for you," Gabe said when he was finished, in the sweetest, gentlest voice possible, and McCree finally dared to look at him. He looked gentle enough, but exasperated. 

"'M sorry, Gabe," Jesse murmured. 

"It's alright, Jesse," Gabe said softly, and grabbed his plate to return to the lunch counter.

McCree wasn't fucking sorry. He was feeling pissy today, and he was in no mood for forgiveness, or he wouldn't have opened his mouth at all. He was angry, and hurt, and tired, but he wasn't going to pick a fight, because he knew he would regret it when he inevitably forgave Gabe in a few days. 

Even if he didn't fucking want to forgive him right now, or ever for that matter, he knew it would happen because that's how it always happened. Gabe would throw him down a flight of figurative emotional stairs, and Jesse would be hurt and angry for a few days. He would swear he wasn't going to forgive him this time, and then the initial, irrational fit of anger would pass and Gabe would be extra nice and Jesse would forgive him. It had happened time and time and time again without fail for over a year, but this time, Jesse was mad. He wasn't going to let that cycle continue. 

Either Gabe was going to apologize and never do it again, or the next time it happened, Jesse would leave him. For good that time, definitely. But then, he did that a lot, too. He promised himself that he would leave Gabe "next time this happens," but Gabe was always promising to do better. He would start cooking dinner for Jesse this time. He would see Angela and ask her for a different medication to treat his leftover temper from Talon. He would start listening to Jesse this time. 

But this time, for sure, Jesse was not going to fall for it again. One more goddamn slip-up. He wasn't going to feel like the stupid one anymore when Gabe turned his back on him again. 

Never again. 


	5. What's Left of Him

"Next time" happened to be three days later. 

Jesse and Gabe were on the couch that Jesse had recently dragged into his own bunk, watching an action movie while Hanzo was out practicing on the range. The room was lit by nothing but the television and the light of the moon outside. The main character just learned that the token pretty girl was cheating on him, kicking off the story for his angsty military career. Gabe pointed to the screen when they showed said pretty girl kissing another man. 

"Is that you?" he asked coldly. 

Jesse froze up, stuck somewhere between hurt and anger.  There was a baby crying on the television. 

"Is that you?" Jesse countered. 

 

There was no verbal warning this time, no growl, no gasp of shock, no hesitation. It was a fist, not the back of a hand that found its way to his nose, and he landed hard against the arm of the couch. Tense fingers wrapped themselves in his hair and threw him off the couch, into the television. It shattered, and he cried out in pain as glass embedded itself in his upper body. 

"What the fuck did you say to me?" Gabe hissed, voice hauntingly icy. It didn't sound human. It sounded like the breath of a wild dog when it had its prey cornered. It was harsh, and gritty, but Jesse didn't have the mental capacity right now to correct himself in thinking about his lover. His head spun, and the sight of blood staining his white t-shirt turned on a switch in his head that made him want to run. He could not win here. 

"'M... I'm sorry, Gabe," he choked out, lifting a shaky hand to try and brush little chips of glass out of the skin on his neck. Gabe snatched him by the wrist and threw him into a wall by the door. He didn't have time to react. He landed face-first into the wall, and he screamed- actually screamed- as his broken nose rammed into the drywall. Jesse fell to the floor, tears singeing their way down his cheeks. 

He dared glance over his shoulder, one last vain attempt at an apology before Gabriel stomped him into the floor. His boot was already raised. Jesse choked out something even he didn't understand. 

Just then, there was a creak, and a wide rectangle of light spread itself over the dark room. 

~

Hanzo froze in the doorway. He had gotten bored rather quickly at the range, and had decided to come up early to talk to Jesse. He needed to talk, to get this burden off of his chest even if it meant the destruction of everything he was once made to believe. 

But all he found in his quarters was a cold blow to his reality. 

McCree knelt on the floor, staring up at Hanzo with tears in his eyes. Behind his head, a boot was raised.

_ Jiyusuke knelt on the floor, staring up at Hanzo with tears in his eyes. Behind his head, an arrow was knocked. _

Hanzo cried out without even thinking. 

" _Ryuu ga waka teki wo kurau_!"

The room lit up in white and blue, broken shards of glass shimmering in celestial light that sent sparks of light jumping around the room. Dragons howled with a fury he had only heard a few times in his life. The world was silenced by the dazzling light, every creature on earth tuned in for the performance of the dragons' dance as they devoured, twirling and coiling and snapping their teeth at their prey. The building shook beneath their merciless wrath. 

And then, all at once, the light went out, leaving just the dark room and the sheet of light filtering in from the hallway. Where Gabriel Reyes had been, there was nothing but a small ring of black smoke on the floor that vanished almost as soon as Hanzo spotted it.

He fell to his knees and cupped Jesse's face in his hands. 

He wouldn't look up at him, so Hanzo lifted his gaze manually with his thumb, and looked into his eyes. That was how he broke McCree. The gunman let his face fall into Hanzo's shoulder, and there he stayed, shaking. Hanzo dared to wrap his arms around him, emotional consequences be damned. 

They stayed like that for what seemed like forever, on the floor of the apartment, Hanzo solemnly holding what he now knew to be a broken man. 

~

Jesse remembered very little of what happened that night. Hanzo had been so kind as to let him have his bottle of whiskey on his way to the infirmary, and he had nursed it like a babe nursing a bottle. He remembered cowering like a child, bleeding and beaten. He remembered the dragons, and he remembered that Gabe had pulled that damn vanishing trick. He remembered that when the whiskey started hitting, Hanzo picked him up and carried him the rest of the way to the infirmary, and all he could think about was how fucking easy that must be for someone with Hanzo's arm muscles. 

So when he woke up the next day in the hospital wing, covered in little white bandages and sporting a brace for his neck, it took him a moment to understand what was going on. It wasn't the stiff kind of brace you used for a broken neck, but the kind you used when you slept on it funny and it started acting up. 

He could have punched himself. He was so weak, so goddamn weak. He knew Reyes was a bad idea, goddamnit, he knew it and he still went and forgave him. Why? Because he was stupid and weak and he let himself believe that he was going to change. 

And Hanzo. What must Hanzo think of him, seeing him cry over some scrapes like a six year old? Jesse knew he wasn't weeping for his wounds, but that made it all the worse, because he had done all of that to himself. He let Gabe fuck him up and take his heart and crush it like a bug. He had let their relationship go to shit, and in a lot of ways, it was his fault. All the places he could have just talked to him. If he had just been honest without being aggressive, if he had taken control somewhere along the line, this never would have happened to him. 

The frantic beeping of his heart monitor must have alerted Angela, because she came in the door in a hurry. He still wasn't sure why he was hooked up to one in a first place- he was tore up good, sure, but they were just cuts. It's not like his heart was in danger of stopping. He started to sit up, but cried out in pain when his chest burst out in pain. 

"Jesse, don't strain yourself!" Angie tittered, suddenly in a mild panic. 

"Holy hell," he growled. "What happened?"

"I'm afraid Gabriel broke some ribs," she said. Her voice was solemn for a moment before picking back up. "Well. I mean. Just one rib, actually. Where did you feel the pain?"

"Left side," he replied. 

Angie hummed in agreement. "That's good. That's the side that's supposed to hurt. Was it all on your left side?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I was afraid there might have been some bruising higher up on the right side." McCree shook his head and Dr. Ziegler scribbled something on her notepad. "Anyway, you're about due for a dose of painkillers. I would have started them last night, but _somebody_ was more interested in whiskey than his health." 

Jesse gave her a guilty shrug, not exactly feeling up to joking. She must have noticed, because her good-natured smile turned into a worrisome pout. 

"Anyway, I'll get on that. Luckily, your rib was only fractured a bit, and with how far modern medicine has come- you're welcome, by the way- I should have you up and walking in a few hours. You can take those bandages off if you'd like. The biotic cream should have done its job and laced them up with scar tissue by now." 

She left the room without waiting for him to respond. Aw, hell. Scar tissue? 

Mercifully, there was a small mirror on the table next to him. One by one, he plucked off what seemed like hundreds of tiny bandages, leaving them scattered on the bed like confetti. When he lifted the mirror to his face, he winced a bit. It wasn't honestly that bad, but his left cheek was littered with little white marks, especially further back near his ear which had a new nick in it. The most notable one was diagonal from his temple to his laugh lines. It was big and bumpy and dark. It looked like a long, fuchsia callous. 

The sight of it made him cringe a little. Hopefully that would heal better in time. He didn't want to look like 76. 

A knock on the door made him set the mirror back down and look up. Hanzo stood, as if he had been summoned by Jesse's thoughts, holding a flat white box. Jesse looked away, shame making him look and feel grouchier than he wanted. 

"Hello." 

"Hey." 

Silence. 

"I... Brought you something," Hanzo said, lifting the white box. 

Jesse looked up at it, suddenly curious. Luckily, it felt like either the painkillers were working or Angie's sciencey bullshit potions had fixed his rib. 

Hanzo let out a nervous "Ah--" of protest as Jesse sat up, then silenced himself when he realized that the other man wasn't even wincing. Still, Hanzo walked over to spare him unnecessary strain. He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

McCree expected the awkward conversation to continue for at least a few more minutes, but instead, Hanzo just stuffed the box into his hands and then turned around to hurry out. McCree didn't bother to stop him, but watched him leave, and again, shame bit at his ears. He felt like he should punch a tree, or fistfight a bear, or challenge Zarya to an arm wrestling match to alleviate some of this unbearable shame. 

He felt like a baby. A tiny, pathetic little baby, which is probably how he looked, too, shabby and tired and eyes bloodshot still from tears that wanted to show up, but didn't, because he had drained them all dry last night under the influence. 

He palmed at his face and scratched the back of his neck before taking a breath and opening the box. He had to be honest, he expected a blanket or something to keep warm, or a medical kit, or booze. He didn't expect to open the box and find a sheet cake staring back at him with the words " _ I'm sorry I possibly murdered Gabriel Reyes _ " scrawled in expert handwriting, in red frosting. Also in the box was a note, in an envelope, covered in frosting and tucked in the side. McCree opened it carefully, but still got frosting all over his fingers. 

 

_ And I'm also sorry he vanished into thin air. And I'm sorry I didn't help you sooner. And I'm sorry everything turned out like this for you. The counter lady said this would not fit on a cake, so I had to write a note. So, sorry also that this is not on the cake. Genji once said it is customary to write your sentiments on a cake, but I do not see how you express everything on such a small canvas. I hope that you recover quickly. _

_ -Hanzo _

 

McCree stared at it for a long few minutes. He looked from the cake to the letter, and then back to the cake, and then back to the letter. 

He laughed. Quiet at first, and then it turned into a bark, and it got harsher until he couldn't hear himself, and he couldn't breathe he was laughing so hard. The heart rate monitor was bleeping like crazy, but that made him laugh, too. Angie ran into the room as fast as she could, only to stop in the doorway and shake her head in confusion. McCree just shook his head at her, unable to conjure a response in his stupor. He waved his hand at her, his laughter toned down to an air-constricted cackle.

Finally, he sat up with one loud sigh of finality. 

"Are you finished?" Angie asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, don't get yer sleeves in a knot," he replied, a smile lasting on his face now. 

"Good. Don't let me hear that monitor go awol again, or else it's not gonna make another noise. Ever. Got it?" 

"Not even when they remove the body?" he joked, and she rolled her eyes, but her smile was back too. 

"No." 

 

~

 

Hanzo hurried out of the infirmary as fast as he could while still appearing casual on the off chance that McCree wanted to talk to him. He had spent his childhood practicing good penmanship and eloquent language, most of which had stuck with him- at least, the Japanese bit. But talking face to face was another thing. 

He was a professional in intimidation. But that left him seriously lacking in certain departments, like compassion. Previous attempts in being genuine usually just ended up with both parties uncomfortable for one reason or another, so he avoided it and kept his thoughts to paper, where they could be edited as many times as needed before anyone ever saw them. 

The thought made him stop at the door of the waiting room, hand frozen on the handle. 

He should have proofread that letter more closely. He should have omitted a lot of unnecessary rambling about cake, for example. What if McCree took it as a sign of him not paying attention to his personal issues? Would he be insulted? 

There was a sudden bought of laughter down the hall, and Hanzo recognized the voice. He let his head drop into the door, which clattered weakly on its hinges. 

He imagined what he must have looked like, trying to convince the baker lady that a letter that size should be able to fit on a sheet cake. He recalled the face she had made when he had scowled over the glass counter, trying to intimidate her. It had not worked. 

Hanzo giggled under his breath at himself , and opened the door, walking outside. 

At least Jesse wasn’t mad, he thought. 

He didn’t realize he had been grinning still until he rounded a corner and suddenly stubbed his toe. 

Hanzo hissed and swore, lifting his foot to assess the damage. His pinky toe was an angry red. He looked up at his assailant indignantly and Genji stared back, rubbing his neck awkwardly. 

“You should not wear flip-flops,” he advised, instead of apologizing. 

“Sandals,” Hanzo corrected him with a growl, and set his foot back on the ground. “Why is your foot so hard?”

“It is made of metal,” Genji replied without missing a beat. 

“All of it?” Hanzo said, and looked down at it. He thought it was just armored. He stood there in silence for a moment, then stepped past his robot brother… thing, guilt chewing at him. 

“Interesting. I will leave you to that.” 

“Wait.”

Hanzo winced, and turned around. He had been dreading this moment since he first arrived at base. Genji’s robotic substitute should be furious, but he knew better. Time with the true omnic had suppressed whatever anger he held. 

That was how Hanzo knew he was not Genji. 

“Were you visiting Jesse?” 

Hanzo almost let out a sigh of relief. He had forgotten that they were good friends. 

“Yes. He is well.”

“He is well, or his bones have healed?”

He looked back up to see Genji’s visor glowing dimly back at him. Genji must have figured it out from his expression, because he sighed. There was a whirring noise as he turned his head as if to look over his shoulder at the infirmary. 

It was bizarre to try and think that it was Genji under all that metal, and Hanzo found himself peering into the visor as if he could see him, but the moment he saw what he thought was a pair of eyes, he blinked and shook his head, shaken by an imagined resemblance. 

“Why did you not tell me?” Hanzo said suddenly, and Genji looked back to him. Hanzo tried not to look at his visor again, and switched to Japanese on impulse. 

“[Why did you never say that you were with the omnic? Why am I the last to know that you like men?]” 

Genji laughed light-heartedly. 

“[I did not know it mattered so much to you, brother.]”

“[I do not care what you do with yourself. You have always been a delinquent.]”

Hanzo paused, and wondered if the humor had gotten through, wondered if the new Genji knew the difference. A somewhat metallic laugh sang out from his helmet, and Hanzo dared to smile. That sounded like Genji. 

“[I think you are jealous, as I have something that you do not.]” 

“[And tell me, what is that?]” 

“[A boyfriend.]” 

Hanzo froze, not sure whether or not he should be offended. He spluttered in reply, meaning to say something snarky, but he only managed to get two or so words into a phrase before backing up. 

“[I do not- There- Why would- I am not,]” he stopped and folded his arms. “[I  _ could _ .]”

Genji’s faceplate didn’t change, but he had no response, and Hanzo had nothing to follow up, so he just stood there, frozen, trying not to turn red. He failed miserably, heat blazing in his cheeks. Finally, after what seemed like a million years of silence, Genji motioned at the infirmary with his thumb. 

“[Yes, you could.]” 

Without further explanation, Genji left, leaving Hanzo to stare at the doors he had just walked out of. 

He could? 

  
  
  



	6. He Could.

Three days later, Talon servers updated to say that Reaper’s infiltration of Overwatch was successful and that he was back with new information. Jesse stared at the bulletin on the screen of his tablet, the lights above him buzzing loudly. 

There he was, Gabriel Reyes, dragged back down into the hellish mindset that was Reaper. The white mask leered at him, fractured at the edge from when Overwatch had finally taken him down. Angela had manufactured him a new face from stem cells, even if it was a grotesquely malformed mockery of his old one. But Talon was not going to let him keep it. Not when it was a gift from Overwatch. 

Jesse was relieved that he was gone. He missed Gabe, but Gabe- the  _ real _ Gabe- had not been in Overwatch since before the collapse of the Swiss base. 

But a part of him still hurt. It hurt for the Gabriel in the Blackwatch program. It hurt for the Gabriel that felt underappreciated. It hurt for the Gabriel that fought for a better world. It hurt because Jesse knew that none of them were ever coming back.

He missed the family that Overwatch once was to him, back when even the biggest disagreements were solved by Morrison when he still had a level head.  

But enough of that, he decided, setting the tablet on the table with the microwave. 

He had finally been allowed to go back to his room today after Angie’s mandatory two-day recovery period. He still hurt, but it was not a hurt Angie could cure. And besides the heartache of Gabe’s second back-stabbing, he was finally free. 

It would take him a moment to adjust, but Jesse Jeremiah McCree had nothing to be afraid of.

 

~

 

“[I believe in you, brother.]”

“[Stop talking to me.]”

“[Why? Does it annoy you?]” 

“[Yes.]” 

“[Good.]” 

Hanzo glared over his shoulder into the green visor. 

“[Are you… Are you sticking your tongue out at me?]” he said abruptly. He couldn’t help himself. He had looked through the glass again. 

“[No.]” 

“[I can see it through your visor.]” 

“[I am doing no such thing.]” Genji folded his arms. 

“ _ Genji _ .” The cyborg cocked his head, triggering a traumatic flashback of his trademark shit-eating grin. Hanzo leered at him and threw his hands up in exasperation. “Privacy, please.”

“But what if something funny happens and I am not here for it?”

“You will live,” Hanzo growled, and shooed him off. “Be gone.” 

Genji shook his head, but turned around and walked off. It was silent for a moment. 

“I said be gone, not hide around the corner.”

“[Killjoy.]”

 

He raised his hand to open the door to his room, but stopped himself as the reality of his situation hit him. He was about to go inside of his apartment, where he lived, and flirt with a man. A tall man with dark hair and dark skin and dark eyes and freckles on his cheeks and a scrappy beard and a masculine face with the features comparable to a coyote. There might not have ever been a more picturesque, perfect example of what who he was not supposed to associate with. 

And Hanzo was going to flirt with him for a pleasure that would take himself months to understand or get comfortable with. 

Disgusting. Wrong. Sinful. 

Dangerous. 

Hanzo let his hand fall from the handle and took a step back, suddenly mortified. And what would happen if, one day, McCree decided to get stupid and got himself killed? What if, after supposedly years of opening up, once Hanzo was good and comfortable and happy, it was all torn away again? It was likely, considering the man had no concept of personal safety. The mission was a shitstorm, and McCree had charged into it head first without so much as a blink of fear. 

He wondered if McCree would accept any types of advances. He could just imagine the look on his face- anger, or spite. He would laugh, or rage or jeer or spit, and it would hurt worse than if he had simply set Hanzo on fire. 

And there were people who hunted him. What if they used McCree against him? The thought nauseated him. Jesse being locked in a prison cell in the depths of some desert or a military compound or a warehouse and being torn apart until he cursed the name Hanzo Shimada. 

He took another step back. 

What would his father say? He wouldn’t grant Jesse the mercy of a quick death. He would still be tortued and ripped at the seams and then killed and fed to the dragons like scrap meat. 

Like Genji. 

Yes, his father was dead, but there were people like him. Stares that bore into your soul when you walked down the street, videos on the news of people like him being thrown onto a stake and burned alive, tear gas and exections and stoning. 

And in the middle of that hell he knew would be Jesse McCree. 

And Hanzo could not even describe to himself the terrible things he would do to keep that from happening. 

He opened the door and stepped inside of his apartment, but ignored the other man inside. He had no intention of ruining anything. If that meant living on the sidelines of a cowboy for the rest of his life, so be it. 

But McCree would not so easily be swayed, apparently. 

“Hanzo, darlin’,” he purred as Hanzo walked in, and he immediately considered leaving from the way the cowboy’s voice made him want to throw everything he just told himself out the window. “Never got that chance to thank ye’ for the cake.” 

Was it just him, or did McCree look bashful? 

“It is not a problem,” he said, and tried to scoot past, but Jesse blocked the way again. 

“Lemme make that up to ya,” he replied. “They’re sendin’ us back t’ Dorado for a tick t’ attend a lil’ company jig hosted by the light company.”

Jesse lifted his mechanical arm and projected the holographic notification from the back of his hand. 

It was a picture of a couple, dancing and spinning in the courtyard of LumeriCo surrounded by a downpour of confetti. Little golden lights sprinkled the edges of the roof behind them, casting black shadows on the ground. To the side, in sparkling golden letters, the invitation was scrawled.

 

“ _ All agents of Overwatchs are formally invited to attend the Jubilee in Dorado, free of charge. There will be music, food, drink, and plenty of light, thanks to your efforts. Please dress formally to celebrate the last day of the Festival of Lights with your partners at LumeriCo! _ ”

 

It shrank back into the cowboy’s hand and Hanzo glared at him. Was this supposed to be a date? Was the fucking cowboy asking him on a date? What kind of supernatural forces were at work today that so desperately wanted to test him? He opened his mouth to say no, but McCree’s face killed that urge.

Dark brown eyes peered down at him with so much hope that it squashed the urge to decline. Squashed it like a bug. 

 

“So… I was jus’ wonderin’ if you were gonna be there,” he said, shrugging like he was trying to look casual. 

Hanzo stared at him long and hard before suppressing a sigh. 

“I will come, if you would like.”

“Good,” he said, back to that suave, silky tone. “I’ll be lookin forward to it.” 

Hanzo couldn’t stand how transparent he was being. After all this self control that Hanzo had to practice to keep his selfishness at bay, he bastard goes from puppy-dog eyes to Casanova like it’s nothing, and Hanzo feels outdone, and his pride gets the better of him. He grabs Jesse’s chin in his hand gently, and guides him down to eye level. 

“You should,” he growled, releasing him. Then without a word, he hurried into his room before his thoughts could catch up. 

Sometimes he couldn’t fathom his own lack of self control, but god damn it, that man made it so easy to be careless.

 

~

 

Jesse stood quietly in the main room, his face burning and everything else tingling. 

Now  _ that  _ was chemistry. 

He pulled his hat down over his reddened face and let out a low whistle, committing that moment to memory. If nothing else worked out because Jesse turned out to be too frisky or clingy, he wanted to remember the fire in Hanzo’s eyes when he spoke just then. 

He was a bit shameful that Gabe was forgotten so easily, but fuck that abusive shithead. Jesse was done helping someone who just wanted to hurt him, and their relationship never should have gotten as far as it did. Because Jesse never loved him like that and neither did he, but he wanted more control. 

So sure, Jesse was a bit hurt and a bit guilty and a bit shaken, and sometimes he couldn’t fathom his lack of loyalty, but god damn it, that Hanzo just made it so easy to forget. 


	7. Dorado

Alright, so Hanzo was a little more comfortable with this new idea than previously expected.  
  
Maybe it was the fact that opinions of him had changed when word got around about him- he would have to tell an embarrassing story about Genji sometime to be even that he had told everyone. Maybe it was the fact that luckily, he had left out that little detail about him and McCree.  
  
It was good. That bit would come in time, if ever.    
  
  
  
Dorado, however, came around a lot sooner than expected, and it wasn’t until about three days beforehand that he realized that he needed something to wear.  
  
Where do you get a suit tailored in three days? He had some tight-fitting shirts that he could wear a nice jacket over, but that was only semi-formal.  
  
He had already asked around, but nobody had offered anything useful. 76 had graciously given an odd look and held up a stiff, white, collared shirt that Hanzo had to politely decline because, besides the fact that his chest was probably way too broad to fit 76’s shirts, something about borrowing from him didn’t sit well.  
  
The soldier did, however, point him in the direction of Ana, who agreed almost immediately to help him out. He had offered payment, but she seemed happy just to help, and the next morning, she had dismantled a set of old janitor suits to make a proper tailcoat and pants.  
  
Modelling for her and letting her take his measurements was an awkward affair, but she didn’t seem to mind. The suit was finally done the day before they went to Dorado on a private jet provided by LumeriCo.  
  
It was a decent enough size for all who came, with all the necessities needed to pamper them. LumeriCo had really gone all out. There was a table in the center of the compartment with cup holders, and the cabinets below functioned as a fridge for all kind of drinks. Unsurprisingly, that was the first thing that caught Jesse's eye, and he spent most of his time before take off rooting through like he was looking for his brand.   
  
Somehow, Hanzo doubted that they had anything McCree was used to drinking.   
  
They did, however, have sake, and not just one kind, but all high end. Garyubai, Choryu Tsukihi Kasanete, and his absolute favorite that was so specific he wondered if they had found it in his files somewhere. Dassai 23. Hanzo poured himself a bit and tipped it back, closing his eyes and letting the burn bleed down his throat, fruity and smoother than molten gold.   
  
"Y'know, that sake's not half bad but... I prefer a little bite to my liquor."  
  
"Ha!" Hanzo huffed unconvincingly, "How predictable. Such unsophisticated taste."   
  
"Well fine then, lemme taste some'a yers," he said, putting on that handsome pout and holding out his hand. Hanzo obliged and poured another glass, handing it to Jesse, but when he reached for it, Hanzo pulled back a little.   
  
"Taste it. Do not take it like a shot."   
  
"Sure, darlin'," Jesse agreed, and took the little white glass. Hanzo poured himself another while Jesse waited, and then he lifted his glass.  
  
"Cheers."  
  
" _Kampai_."  
  
'They tilted back at the same time, but Hanzo lowered himself sooner to take in McCree's face. He had his eyes closed, and his nostrils flared. His cheeks pinkened and his mouth puckered a bit.  
  
When the taste settled, he let out a long whistle.  
  
"Never had that kinda sake before."  
  
"Then you have never had good sake."  
  
McCree shrugged like the matter wasn't even up for debate.  
  
"Alright, partner now it's yer turn," McCree said, eyes suddenly sparkling with mischief. He offered up a tall, clear, crystalline bottle. Inside was a dark liquid that reminded Hanzo of flat cola.  
  
Hanzo cringed at it, and McCree laughed.   
  
"C'mon, this is the fancy stuff."   
  
Hanzo cringed deeper, but held out his hand.   
  
"That's the spirit," Jesse said and poured two glasses. Hanzo took his, glowered at it, and then pinched his nose and tipped it back.   
  
He had no idea that you could put cancer in a bottle. The burn was nothing new, but the taste was ugly.   
  
He wrinkled his nose.   
  
"You must be very desperate for a drink to choose this," he remarked finally, and set the glass down. McCree laughed again, that deep, rich sound that captivated everyone who heard it with resonance like an acoustic guitar.   
  
"You should try the cheap shit," Jesse said, taking another sip.   
  
"You mean rubbing alcohol?" Hanzo said sarcastically, earning another chuckle. He was on a roll today with making Jesse laugh, apparently.   
  
He shook his head and poured himself another small glass of sake.   
  
~  
  
Jesse ran his hand over his jaw to test his stubble, making sure that it was even. The collar on his undershirt was nice and stiff, his sleeves were rolled neatly, and his hair was behaving itself. He took a step back to admire his work, adjusting the crown jewel, his belt buckle, and he took a mental note to suck up to Lena over the next few days. She had picked out his outfit since this was everyday fashion for her, and he had to admit, he looked good.   
  
He wore a full burgundy suit with a white, collared undershirt and a black bowtie that he had let Lena talk him into.   
  
He had not, however, let her talk him out of his earrings and belt buckle. This one was a rose with thorns twisting out to either side, pure gold to match his modest golden studs.   
  
Outside, the party had already begun, and even though this was the last official day of the Festival of Lights, it would probably continue for days after LumeriCo stopped hosting. It was one of those where when the party ends, it doesn't really end. It just moves somewhere else.   
  
He hoped to god his deodorant would hold through the night, because he couldnt imagine doing what he had planned without sweating.   
  
He was going to dance with Hanzo. That was his one goal for the night was to get a dance in, even if it took every bit of charisma he could muster. Because, realistically, he didn't think Hanzo knew what he was up to. He probably just thought McCree had invited him for a guy's night.   
  
Which wasn't technically wrong, but...   
  
He huffed at himself, and straightened his collar one more time before finally leaving the mirror. With one last deep breath, he stood up straight and stepped outside.

Lantern lights were strung from the rooftops, lacing over the courtyard in a sparse net of gold. There were buffet tables set under the roofs at the edges of the courtyard and a local band was set up on the side that overlooked the sea. They were playing something mildly electronic, but slow and acoustic at the same time.

Most of the Overwatch agents had left the hotel early to come, but looking around, Jesse realized Hanzo still wasn’t there. His collar suddenly felt a little bit too tight, and he plucked at it nervously. What if he wasn’t going to show up at all?

It was another forty minutes or so before Hanzo arrived to ease Jesse’s nerves.

The music was at just the right volume that it was the main background noise of the party, but you could talk over it if you wanted to, and the lights had dimmed into shades of red and violet and yellow.

Jesse couldn’t imagine Hanzo meant to make a scene in showing up, but his presence kind of demanded attention even when he wasn’t impeccably dressed in a black suit with striking snow white detail. He wore a matching ribbon around his waist that was long enough to trail him the same way his hair ribbon usually did. His hair was down now except for the two strands at the front that were pinned back.

All of this combined with his presence put a considerable dent in the chatter. Of course, he noticed, but he didn’t tone himself down. If anything, he raised his chin a bit like he was coldly inviting some imagined criticism that he expected.

If the rest of the people there were intrigued, McCree was awestruck.

Hanzo locked eyes with him from the entrance and immediately started making his way over.

Jesse floundered for something suave to say.

“Almost thought ya weren’t comin’,” he said instead, sounding sheepish.

Dammit.

But Hanzo’s mouth quirked like he wanted to smile.

“I would not miss the chance.”

Chance? The chance for what? To dance? To be with McCree? To see the lights? It didn’t really matter. All of those possibilities made Jesse dizzy with joy.

The first place they went was to the buffet at the edge of the courtyard. Hanzo peered down at the variety of Texican food with a wary eye, his plate empty until Jesse started pointing out things that he might like.

“These right here are my favorite, but I dunno if you’d like it. Ya don’t like liquor, so ya prolly don’t like spice,” he said, pointing out the Mango con Chile’s, but Hanzo put a few slices on his plate with the tongs.

“I like spicy,” he said shortly, and moved on down the line.

They ended up not eating all that much, but Hanzo had apparently decided that Mango con Chile was his new favorite, and McCree eagerly filed that information away.

It must have been close to midnight when the lights turned from blue back to violet and red, and McCree found his head bobbing to the sweet, gentle thrum of the band’s song. There was the soft sound of singing, almost swallowed up by the music, but that gave it a sort of distant quality that he could appreciate. He closed his eyes and let himself sway a bit.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said, voice so gentle McCree wondered if he had actually heard it. He opened his eyes and hummed in acknowledgement.

“Would you like to dance?”

Jesse’s eyes snapped open and he looked at Hanzo, whose dark silvery-brown eyes peered at him with intensity like a storm cloud. He thought his heart was going to pop, but he tried to stay calm when he quirked his head and replied, “Sure, darlin’.”

He thought he saw Hanzo blush.

Jesse took his hand when they walked away from the table and paused. He wasn’t sure whether or not he should lead, but Hanzo seemed to already have that covered, so Jesse followed him as he placed his hands on Jesse’s shoulders.

He had his eyes on the ground, and his ears were red, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble dancing. In fact, Hanzo was the very essence of radiance, white ribbon tracing his dance in a violet trail, broad shoulders set back like an emperor, feet gliding over the green lawn in beautiful spirals and side-steps as he led the dance beneath the lanterns. Jesse was struck by him, dazzled in the rosy light that was cast over his dramatic features and doing his best to keep up with what should have been such a basic dance, but had turned into something more brilliant than a sunset on the sea by Dorado. 

But he shamed himself. How could he have expected anything less than divine? He was, after all, dancing with dragons here. 

But Hanzo was so shy. McCree wondered if it was the publicity, or the dancing, or just the closeness that added that blush that saw when the light faded back to champagne.

Jesse tentatively pulled him closer, and he looked up with caution, letting their gazes meet. McCree watched his face in a trance as the multicolored lights bled onto his sharp cheekbones, casting glimmers into those stormy eyes that made him hold his breath in anticipation of the thunder to come.

And Hanzo looked back with an expression that made him feel like he was the only one in the courtyard.

McCree hoped to God and everything holy that Hanzo wouldn’t be offended. He leaned down, letting his eyes fall shut as he closed the distance between them.

But his lips met the tip of Hanzo’s finger instead. He was looking at the ground again with his ever-unreadable expression.

“Darlin’?” Jesse said, pulling away from Hanzo for a moment.

“I must go,” Hanzo said abruptly, and without any further explanation, pushed away from him, back towards the hotel where the Overwatch agents were staying.

McCree took a step after him, but stopped short, watching as the tip of his white ribbon vanished around the corner.

Had he done something?

 


	8. Sleepless

Hanzo spent the rest of the flight home in the corner drinking sake while McCree stared at him from across the jet compartment. He never looked over, because he knew exactly what he’d see. He’d see those goddamn puppy eyes burning guilt into his soul like a brand.

He had felt his resolve melt from him when Jesse leaned in to kiss him, but all at once, he had remembered what he told himself. Jesse McCree could not be with him, because McCree was good.

And Hanzo was a murderer and a traitor to his family. And above that, he was mean. After what Jesse'd been through, he deserved better. 

 

But McCree had no intention of letting it go. He made that clear in every day from there on out, always trying to get Hanzo alone, probably to talk. He wouldn't let him. McCree was going to move on without him and find someone who deserved him. 

At least, that was the plan, but for the third time in a week, Jesse had caught him coming back into the apartment and cornered him. Not in the way he had the other two times. No, he literally locked Hanzo into a corner with an arm on either side. 

The archer scowled up at him, but when he met his broken eyes, his anger shattered, and he had to look back away. 

"Why're you avoidin' me so bad, Han? What's th'matter? Am I really that bad?" 

He wanted to shake his head, to grab McCree and tell him it was the most fun he'd had in years, press their lips together and feel the other man melt. But he could not. 

"McCree, let me go." 

"McCree? Is it McCree now?" he whispered, his voice cracking so hard that Hanzo shrank back a little. "What happened to Jesse?" 

"We can not be so intimate," Hanzo insisted, folding his arms tightly into his chest. 

" _Why?_ "

_I am a bad influence. I am cruel. You are not safe while I am still on the radar in Hanamura. I am unsympathetic and imperfect and you are so much more._

"Because," he said through gritted teeth, "Jesse-  _McCree_ , we can not."

"Hanzo, you're not makin' any damn sense. I know I wasn't the only one who felt that lil spark in Dorado, aright? You ain't givin me a reason why yer so goddamn evasive nowaday!"

" _Because I-"_ Hanzo slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish the sentence 'I love you.' "Move," he snarled, and shoved his way violently past McCree. He was not sleeping here. Not tonight, and not ever. He could not face those broken brown eyes again. The door slammed behind him and he found himself instinctively drawn to the rooftops. 

He sat there, sitting with his arms wrapped around himself until the stars were swallowed by the early light of the morning and the horizon turned a peachy orange. The last thing he saw before going to sleep was the first sliver of sun that seeped over the distant cliffs. 

~

 

Jesse didn't sleep that night, because he knew the nightmares would come for him. It always happened when he fought with Gabe, and when Hanzo had left, he felt that familiar sense of doubt and anxiety that told him he should stay away from the wretched tomb that was his bed. 

He knew Hanzo felt the same way about him, goddamn it. His eyes would light up with fucking lightning when he saw him, his cheeks would get pink when he said hello, his smile, that rarity that McCree once was sure didn't exist had become a commonplace when McCree did so much as speak to him. 

Which meant there was something holding him back. Something painful, by the looks Hanzo doesn't think Jesse can see. 

It was going to drive Jesse insane if they kept up this game, because he sure as hell was not going to give up. Hanzo was beautiful, even beyond those sharp cheekbones and silky hair and rainy eyes. The dumb jokes that he told on missions that he thought nobody payed attention to, the ones he couldn't get through without giggling to himself. The awkwardly sweet way he presented his feelings. Even his fury was beautiful, in the dead of night when he had seen Jesse on the floor of the apartment with a fractured rib and a black eye, and his usual endearing scowl had turned dangerous. His eyes narrowed and focused in on Gabe, his shoulders had drawn back, and his lips pulled up and in that moment, he had truly looked like a dragon. 

He had smiled once when Jesse was there to watch. All other times he came close to smiling, it was like he crushed the feeling until it was little more than an impulse and his mouth just quirked at the edges, but one time he had let one slip. 

It was when they were on the Dorado mission, and he told a joke to himself, and he grinned and chuckled aloud. That sound was all McCree ever wanted to hear. The sight of his smile was all he ever wanted to see. It did inhuman things to his heart to think about waking up to see that smile first thing in the morning.

He would not let Hanzo go, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let him suffer alone.

So he needed to talk to the best authority on him. 

 

 

He found Genji at the seaside, unsurprisingly hanging off of Zenyatta, his arms holding him around the omnic's shoulders. 

"Master, I am bored."

"Patience is a virtue, my student." 

"What about fun?" Genji replied. "Is fun a virtue? Because, forgive me master, I am lacking." 

Zenyatta let out a quiet chuckle. 

"You have meditated much, Genji. Surely ten more minutes will not end your life." 

"Have you ever tried to juggle?" Genji asked, ignoring him completely. 

"No." 

"You should." 

"I will not juggle," Zenyatta replied, somehow sounding exasperated. 

McCree cleared his throat pointedly. One of Zenyatta's switches clicked in alarm and Genji looked over his shoulder, visor brightening as if he was embarrassed. He slid off of Zenyatta's back and situated himself with more dignity beside his boyfriend. "Hello Jesse," he said stiffly, acting like nothing happened. "What brings you to meditation." 

"Is that what ye call it?" 

Zenyatta chuckled again, and Genji folded his arms. "So you came to taunt me?" 

"Well, a lil," Jesse admitted. "But mostly I wanted to talk about yer brother." 

Genji hummed, and the light on his visor blinked a few times. "Alright, but don't tell me anything I don't want to hear." 

Jesse nodded and sat down beside him, wondering idly if Zenyatta should be here. As if reading his mind, Genji said, "Zenyatta already knows everything that needs to be known about him. There are no secrets." 

Jesse nodded gratefully, and twiddled his thumbs, wondering how he should go about asking about this. He didn't want to probe too much for fear of invading Hanzo's precious privacy, but there was clearly something big bothering him, and he wanted to help even if Hanzo wanted to kill him for it. 

"He's real troubled lately," Jesse began, figuring that was a safe enough start. "I been... Well, I ain't gonna lie, I been flirtin' with 'im."

Genji hummed again. "And he's been distant and disagreeable, hasn't he?" 

"Yeah, but... he's also... hurt, I think."

"What do you mean by this?"

Jesse shook his head. 

"I don't think he actually wants me to leave him alone. It's like he's worryin' about me, but he'll only do it from afar. Soon as I get too close, he gets nervous. Starts talkin' like were not allowed to be close, like there's somethin' waitin' around the corner if we hook up." 

Jesse finished and looked down at Genji, who was now out of meditation position and sharing eye contact- or the closest thing to- with Zenyatta. Abruptly, he looked back to McCree. 

"You must talk to him," Genji decided. 

"About what? He won't talk," Jesse pointed out, feeling hopeless. 

Genji paused for what seemed like a long time. 

"Be patient, Jesse. My brother is not yet healed from his past, and he will not take kindly to you bothering old wounds." He stood up, offering a hand to help McCree do the same. "But like an oyster, even he will open up with enough time and compassion."

Jesse let that sink in for a moment, then turned to look at his friend. 

"You talk like a goddamn priest," he said finally, and Genji chuckled. 

  
"My apologies. I only spend twenty-four hours a day in the company of a monk."

"Twenty," Zenyatta interjected, sighing dramatically. "I am woefully alone for four hours a day when he wanders off." 

"Do not let him fool you," Genji pulled McCree aside and whispered, "He spends this time with Bastion and Ana."

Jesse just shook his head and left them to their playful theatrics. Robots and the like could be surprisingly dramatic.

~

Unfortunately for Hanzo, it rained that day.   
He woke to cold water on his face, and had to scuttle under an awning for shelter, but not before the rain had soaked through his clothes. He crossed his arms and sat down, stomach protesting his distance from the dining hall, but churning to the point that he had no desire to eat. 

So, he sat on the deck watching the rain soak the orange ground and turn it burnt sienna until a door opened behind him. 

The jingle of spurs was unmistakable. He sighed irritably. 

"[ _Jiyu-chan, Otosan, Okaasan, and every other spirit of the dead, give me_ _strength_ ,]"he muttered sarcastically. 

"Who's Jeeyoo-chan n' how'd he die?" 

Hanzo winced, and clapped his palm onto his forehead. Fucking Genji just had to ruin everything. Teaching McCree Japanese, telling everyone he attacked Gabe. If he hadn't almost killed his brother once, he would be plotting revenge. Still, he would have a few select words to say to him. 

"How much of that did you understand?" he asked. Best to assess what he could and could not say around Jesse right now before he put himself in the doghouse again.

"Mother, Father, spirit, dead, give, me, and Jiyu-Chan."

Hanzo grunted, not looking back at him. It was cold outside, and his clothes were soaked, and he had no intention of letting McCree see him so tired and disheveled. 

"Ye just gonna ignore th'question?"

"Yes." 

McCree sat down beside him and he turned away. If he talked about Jiyu-Chan he knew he would get emotional. And he would not do that either. McCree would never see him in any imperfection even though they would never be together. Hanzo had every intention of keeping the little dignity he still had. 

McCree sighed, and Hanzo heard the click of a lighter. A moment later, the spiced smell of cigar smoke flooded the balcony. 

"Y'wanna know how I joined Deadlock?" he asked.

"You killed your father," Hanzo replied grouchily.

"Why'd I do that, Han?" 

Hanzo paused. He had never really put in too much thought on the matter. He probably thought that McCree was forced to do it, or he did it accidentally, or something along those lines, but now his curiosity was piqued. He stayed silent, unsure of what to say.

"How come I killed my dad? How come I joined a gang? How come I left 'em so willingly?" 

Hanzo was so weak. 

"You tell me, cowman." 

It was an instant change in the air between them like when you can feel the static in the air during a storm, and then lightning hits and it all vanishes. It was exactly what Jesse wanted to hear. He turned to face Hanzo, his teeth clamped hard around his cigar, tornadoes in his eyes. 

"I will. But only if ya answer my question first. Who's Jiyu-chan an' how'd he die?" 

Hanzo glared at him now, whipping his head to look at him. The bastard knew that Hanzo wanted to make him happy by lending his ear, and he was using that against him. 

"Why should I trust you?" he said after a brief silence. 

"Cus I ain't got no reason to lie to ya." 

Hanzo closed his eyes and covered his face, taking a deep breath. He could be as brief and vague as he wanted. He could leave out details if he felt he needed to. He just needed to say who Jiyu-Chan was and how he died. 

That's it. 

"Jiyusuke," Hanzo began, talking into his hands, "was... my first love. My father killed-..."

He cut himself off to consider whether or not to include this next detail before pressing on. 

"My father killed him."

_He killed him in the courtroom. Looked me in the eye and put an arrow in Jiyu-chan's head and told me I was never to love another man. I told him he would be safe, that I would not let anyone touch him. And because I went to see him one too many times, he is dead._

Hanzo didn't realize he was still talking until a bit of water dripped from his cheek that was not from the rain. He thought he could feel himself shaking, and he cursed himself, slamming a fist down on the concrete. If it were not for the agreement he had, he would leave right now and spare himself the pain of Jesse's look of shock. But he did not just open up for nothing, so he stayed.

He tried to get himself together, but before he could take a deep breathe, he felt himself being pulled sideways. He had no fight left to stop Jesse from wrapping his arms around him, so he rested his head on the other man's chest, not daring to look up in case Jesse's face held judgment or disgust. 

It seemed like hours that he rested there, tears burning into Jesse's shirt while he let himself soak up the warmth. 

~

McCree didn't care that Hanzo was soaking wet or that he was colder than ice, or that the tears seeped through his t-shirt. The archer shook in his arms, tensed up. Jesse knew it was because he was trying to control himself. 

"Jesse McCree, you are not safe with me. The Shimada family stops at nothing to get what they want. They did not stop for Genji. They did not stop for Jiyusuke. And they will not stop for you."

Jesse didn't know how to respond to that, so Hanzo kept talking. 

"Even if I can evade them, do you think they will be gentle? They will find me, even if it means-" he stopped to swallow, his voice turned more menacing than broken. "Even if it means tearing an innocent cowman into a thousand pieces and scattering him to the wind to make me come to them to avenge you." 

He was still tense, his arms criss-crossed over his chest. Jesse blinked at the rain outside the awning that sent mist scattering into their little shelter. 

"And would ya?" Jesse said. 

Hanzo stopped talking. 

"Would I what?"

"Avenge me?" Jesse said, staring at his slick black hair. Hanzo was silent again for a minute, then pushed away from his chest. Jesse thought he felt the faint tremble of laughter in the archer's shoulders. 

"No. I would send them a postcard thanking them for their civil service," he said, still pushing. 

Jesse looked down and couldn't help but laugh at the shorter man. His eyes were closed tightly, and his eyebrows were creased like he was angry, but his mouth had broken into a beautiful, radiant smile. He was, indeed, laughing silently despite himself, his shoulders quaking with the effort of keeping it quiet. 

"Let me go, you big buffoon," he insisted, a smile still in his voice, but Jesse was not relenting. He held him tightly against his chest despite Hanzo's half-hearted shoving. 

"Nah," Jesse said, hugging him tighter until he let out a dramatic gag. 

"You are suffocating me," he complained. 

"Then how come ye can still talk?" Jesse teased, but loosened his grip. Hanzo didn't make any further effort to escape. 

They sat like this for a moment, Hanzo awkwardly leaning on McCree's chest. 

"So what about you?" Hanzo asked abruptly, ruining the moment. 

"Ain't much ya haven't heard," Jesse said. "My paw was an angry ol' bastard. My maw could only barely feed the four've us on tips, an' there were a lotta nights where me n' my lil sister and my big brothers went t'bed hungry."

Hanzo said nothing, so he continued. 

"Anyway, Deadlock came t'our house one day lookin' for trouble. I got a hold a my paw's pistol and-" he pantomimed the act of shooting a gun with his fingers, "Bam. Got one a the sons a bitches right through th' forehead. Deadlock Gang couldn't get my ass into their gang fast enough, but they wanted me t' prove I could do it again. An' it was one a those days that my paw was feelin' pissy, so he hit my maw, hurt her real bad... so I shot him, too, an' joined on the promise that they'd keep my family fed." 

Hanzo hummed thoughtfully, so quiet Jesse wondered if he imagined the rumble of Hanzo's voice in his chest. 

"Why did you leave?" he asked. Jesse tapped the ash off the end of his cigar. 

"I was real young. It's easy bein' a tough guy when yer young an' ya barely realize what yer doin' to people. But, I got a lil older, a lil wiser, and then Gabe showed up an' offered me a gig. Not only did it pay better, but it was fer a good cause. Didn't wanna be fuckin' people over forever, y'know?" 

He felt Hanzo nod against his chest. 

"You are a wonderful man, Jesse McCree." 

Jesse felt a smile break through his solemn expression. 

"I wouldn't say wonderful..." 

Hanzo sat up and grabbed his face, eyes flooding with the same intensity as when McCree invited him to Dorado. " _Wonderful_."

Jesse chuckled quietly. "Thank you, darlin'." 

Hanzo grunted, and sat back, leaving McCree without him in his arms anymore. 

"Y'know, Han, I can handle myself." 

"I know," Hanzo replied, "I have seen you."

"An' I'm no stranger to bein' hunted. Remember I was on the run from the cops fer prolly five years, and they didn' even catch me at the end there."

"The police are concerned with public safety and protocol. The Shimada clan is not." Hanzo was back to his serious scowl, staring at the ground solemnly. "What shall we do if I must leave one day, back on the run? Where will that leave you?" 

Jesse thought about it for a moment, then picked up Hanzo's hand and laced their fingers together, deciding he wanted to be sappy about it. 

"Darlin', I would sleep on a bed a rocks fer an hour a night an spend the rest a my time driving if it meant you'd be by my side the whole way," he said. 

Hanzo stared at him incredulously, then cracked an irritable smirk and pushed him away with one finger to his forehead. 

"You are being dramatic," he accused. 

"No!" Jesse defended himself. "I'm serious, I would! I'd do anythin' for you t' stay with me. Ya want me to kill someone? I can do that. Want me to punch myself in th' face? I'll punch myself in the face right now, just you watch me." 

Hanzo let out a low chuckle. 

"Dramatic." 

Jesse was going to protest, but he was interrupted by the beautiful feeling of Hanzo's fingertips dragging along his jawline, leading him forward. 

When their mouths met, it was like fire. No, scratch that, it was like the sun exploded on Jesse's lips. Like his skin was made of firecrackers and contact with Hanzo set them alight. He leaned into it, desperate for more, heat and pressure massaging his lower lip when Hanzo moved down to suck on it. '

Jesse gasped and pulled the other man into him so that their chests were pressed together and he could slips his hands under Hanzo's shirt and explore his back with his finger tips. 

~

McCree pulled him in fervently as soon as he moved to his lower lip. The gunslinger was milking sighs from him now, one hand travelling over his back and leaving scores, the other cradling his head to play with his hair. 

Hanzo couldn't help but groan in appreciation when McCree moved too close and brushed his knee against his thigh, and he pulled away nervously. 

The other man was flushed with red, his eyes drowsy and his mouth parted like he was still expecting something there. 

"What's th' matter, sugar?" He asked. 

"Nothing," Hanzo insisted, trying not to let that new pet name get to him while he scooted away. 

"No, wait," McCree said, resting his hand on Hanzo's knee. He jerked his leg away. 

"Do not do that," he warned, and McCree cocked his head in confusion. His eyes seemed to realize where his hand had been before Hanzo moved, and his smile grew mischievous. 

"Why?" McCree purred. "You gettin' restless... _sugar_?"

"Stop this. What do they say? Get your mind out of the gutter?" Hanzo asked, though he felt the heat bleeding through his cheeks. 

But Jesse leaned towards him and rested his head on Hanzo's knee, which was drawn to his chest. 

"Darlin'," he said, "Ain't nothin' wrong with a lil' bit a fun." 

Hanzo peered at him, frozen with ruby-red cheeks. 

"This is not fun. This is embarrassing," he affirmed, but his face only got redder. He was relenting- McCree could tell by the way he pulled his knees close to himself. Fidgeting. Hiding something.

"Please, sugar," Jesse said, keeping one hand on his other knee, "Don't shut me down like this. Let me show ya how they do it on the border." 

Hanzo stiffened, staring at him with deep consideration. Finally, he let out a growl that did  _sinful_ things to McCree's insides, and leaned in, resolve broken like a goddamn mirror by Jesse's massaging on his knee. 

"No," he said, voice low, albeit uncertain, "Let _me_ show _you_."


	9. Drumroll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the moment you've all been waiting for when McCree realizes he's fine with being a bottom.  
> In case it wasn't obvious, this is the chapter that condemns this fic to a mature rating. This is the token smut chapter. You can always just skip it and move to the morning after, yea?

Hanzo spared no sympathy in throwing Jesse onto the couch in their room and pinning him there with his mouth, tonguing the gunslinger's exposed chest. 

How long had it been? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty years of celibacy, broken by this pestilent cowboy with the laugh like the crackle of a campfire, a smile like the moon, and freckles like the stars. 

He was going to pay for braking Hanzo's streak, for making him forget his self control and betray every bit of reason he had.

He let out a beautiful moan when Hanzo ran his tongue over his nipple, so he repeated the motion, but slower, harsher. The moan repeated itself, louder, and Hanzo began circling it, pressing the nub with every movement. 

"H-Hanzo," McCree gasped, shuddering, " _Fuck_."

Hanzo moved further up, straddling McCree's hips and pinning them to the bed so he could grab the cowman's chin, deceptively gentle. He leaned in until their lips were almost touching so he could see McCree's face, flushed with red. He was a hot mess, cheeks colored, breath coming out ragged. 

"Beautiful," he growled, and kissed him again. McCree opened his mouth to him, letting Hanzo slip his tongue in. He teased it in and out, tracing Jesse's lips.

He broke off only to allow his cowboy to breathe. He was sprawled out, chest heaving, and to Hanzo's surprise, he looked nervous. He never took Jesse for a virgin, but he supposed it was a possibility he should have anticipated. 

"Darlin'," McCree huffed, "I ain't... I never been... I never done it like this before," he said, suddenly choked up, and Hanzo felt his heart wrench. Of course a cowboy had never been taken to bed by another man. He would have always done the taking.

Hanzo left a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Do you want me to stop?" 

Jesse shook his head like a madman. 

"No, but... Aw, hell." McCree shifted his hips upwards in the ghost of a thrust, and he bit his lip. Hanzo could feel his length hard against the crotch of his jeans. 

"I will be gentle," Hanzo promised quietly, nothing but a whisper in the other man's ear, and he felt McCree shudder again. 

"Yeah," he agreed breathlessly, "That's good. Great."

Hanzo chuckled deeply and pressed his lips to the place where McCree's ear joined his jaw, moving his hands down to rub his thighs while he rutted their hips together. Slowly, he reminded himself. Gently. 

McCree hummed as he nibbled at the stubble on his neck, and Hanzo began undoing his belt. He made an art of removing the unholy little thing- Really? Bamf?- as he moved back to McCree's mouth. 

His pants came off easily, and McCree thanked him by running his fingers through Hanzo's silky hair, although it was slick with rain water. 

Hanzo's clothes were less complicated. All he had to do was pull a string and he could shrug his casual robe off, leaving him in his underwear. His member made itself known against the cotton, so he rutted gently against McCree again, mimicking the movements of a thrust as he rubbed over Jesse's groin. 

Jesse let an approving moan slip into Hanzo's mouth, and he broke away, panting. 

"Are you ready, cowboy?" he murmured, and Jesse whimpered- god help him, Jesse _whimpered_ \- in response, nodding his head slowly. 

With one last kiss to McCree's jaw, Hanzo got off the couch and began tearing the room apart for some kind of lube. Lotion. Anything, really. 

"Han," Jesse said, interrupting his rummaging through the kitchen drawers. "The cabinet in the bathroom," he panted, regaining breath now that Hanzo wasn't attacking him with affection. He motioned into the hallways beyond their room. "Down the hall."

Hanzo would usually be appalled that Jesse had suggested that he go into the hall under such circumstances. But that Hanzo wasn't hard as a rock with an equally-hard McCree lying in his room waiting for him, so Hanzo spun a blanket around his waist and made a fucking run for it. 

Luckily, "down the hall" literally meant ten feet away from their door. 

He threw open the cabinets, revealing an assortment of ointments and pills and- Thank the heavens for Jesse McCree, there was a bottle of lube. He snatched it and started to go out of the bathroom, only to stop when he flung the door open and found Jamison standing there, hand raised like he was about to knock. 

Hanzo froze up. There he was in nothing but a blanket-skirt holding a bottle of lube. A million useless excuses flew through his head as he tried to think of what to say. 

"You done, mate?" Jamison asked, looking bemused. 

"Um," Hanzo replied, blinking at him, "Yes."

"Olright, then get the hell outta the dunny," Junkrat said. 

Hanzo assumed a "dunny" was a bathroom and hurried away, face red that he hadn't even thought to hide the lube behind his back. Still, when he closed the door to their apartment and turned around, it was hard to stay focused on that minor inconvenience. McCree was more comfortably situated on the couch, lying on his back with his spine arched. His hair was sloppy, his cheeks red, his freckles shining in the glaze of sweat he had built up. His hips raised, Jesse gave Hanzo a lustful look as he impatiently rubbed his thigh with one hand. 

"Holy hell, Han," he sighed, "Anyone ever tell ya you look like a goddamn dream with yer hair down?" 

Hanzo swallowed hard, and remembered why he was in a hurry. He made his way over and straddled McCree's thighs again, pushing the incident out of his mind as he went back to working the gunslinger's nipples with his mouth. 

McCree whined softly, lifting his hips so that Hanzo could rub his length back and forth over his entrance. 

"Beautiful," Hanzo murmured for the second time. "Are you enjoying yourself, Jesse?" He asked, holding Jesse's face in his hands. Like he even needed to ask when McCree was panting again and giving him little moans of satisfaction. "Do you want me to fuck you?" 

Jesse gasped as he tweaked one of his nipples between his fingers. "Mhmm," he moaned, and Hanzo mimicked the sound. He could just imagine how the taller man felt inside. But enough of that. He didn't need to imagine anything. 

Hanzo squeezed a bit of lube onto his fingers and pressed one to Jesse's hole. The gunslinger shuddered in response, hands tugging at Hanzo's hair again. 

"Shhh," Hanzo sighed into his ear. "I have you, Jesse." 

Slowly, he worked his finger inside, moving in and out until Jesse felt loose enough for another finger. His length was hard with anticipation, but he knew better. He had to be slow. He inserted another, and then one more, until Jesse was nice and loose. 

He murmured a meaningless noise of satisfaction into Jesse's neck, and left a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth as he pulled his fingers out to add more lube for good measure. 

Then, he leaned in to let his teeth graze his collar bone as he slowly slid in. 

Jesse groaned, and it sounded painful, but when Hanzo stopped, his grip on his hair tightened. 

"Don't stop now, sugar," Jesse gasped, and Hanzo left another kiss on his cheek. 

He pushed the rest of himself in and Jesse let out a breath. 

He began slow, and gentle so that with every thrust, Jesse's hips rocked a little. 

The cowboy's hands moved down so they grappled the back of Hanzo's neck. 

"[Such a beautiful man,]" Hanzo remarked. "Your smile gives me life. Did you know that?" 

He picked up the pace, hips urging him to move faster, to feel more of McCree squeezing and bobbing on his length. 

"[Neither the sun nor moon can compare.]" 

Jesse hummed impatiently, so he threw his hips forward, replacing that hum with a short whimper. 

"Your face right now will haunt my dreams when I try to tell myself we can't be intimate." 

Hanzo was breathing heavily, and he knew he was getting close, because speaking was getting difficult.

"[All I want to see-,]" he said through his own quiet groans, "All I want to see when I wake- is your beautiful face. For the rest of my life."

That was the end of him murmuring Japanese into McCree's ear. He would continue another time when he couldn't feel himself growing near to climaxing inside of him. 

Hanzo thrusted harder, faster, deeper. He felt sensations like electricity pulse through his length with every movement, sending shockwaves through his body until he wondered how he was still standing. He saw stars, and lost control of his pacing, now only desperate for more. More touch, more contact. 

His hips rutted forward harshly, gentle be damned. Every merciless plunge into Jesse was met with another desperate gasp. The only thing in the universe that mattered was the repetitive sound of Hanzo pushing into Jesse in a series of smacks and groans and gasps.

Jesse let out a gorgeous breath that caught in his throat when he finally came, spilling white onto his stomach, and that noise carried Hanzo over the edge. He pressed his face into Jesse's neck with one last thrust, so hard that it buried him, and the warmth of his own cum bled out of him into McCree. He let out a harsh, ragged breath, forcing himself not to collapse on the cowboy, who was still panting and trying to regain himself. 

Hanzo sat up and mopped the mess on Jesse's stomach with the blanket he had used as a skirt earlier, then pulled out, leaving a thin dribble. The couch creaked a little as he rolled over and he pressed his lips to the back of McCree's neck, pulling him close to his chest. He was sweaty, but that was fine.

Hanzo would have room to care tomorrow. 


	10. Sweet Talk

Jesse woke up to a sleepy grunt that embedded itself in his neck.  
All at once, the events from last night flooded back to him, and he hummed quietly with glee. Who knew Hanzo could be so... sweet?

His words came back to Jesse now, warming his heart. 

" _Your smile gives me life, did you know that?_ " 

Something about the sun. 

" _Your face right now will haunt my dreams when I try to tell myself that we can't be intimate._ "

Something about what he wanted. 

" _All I want to see when I wake up is your face for the rest of my life._ "

Jesse couldn't help himself. He rolled over, wincing at the pain in his legs, and kissed Hanzo on the cheek long and hard, rousing him from his sleep with a disagreeable grunt. 

"Mornin', sugar," he said with a chuckle. 

Hanzo opened his eyes, and the series of emotions that flashed over his face made him want to kiss him again. 

First, he looked startled, then confused, and then he seemed to remember what had happened, and he cracked the most serene smile Jesse'd ever seen. He could see the archer's chest swell as he took in a deep breath. 

"Jesse," he murmured. "I was afraid it was a dream."

"Nah," McCree replied, "Dreams don't usually leave me sore." 

Hanzo laughed. It was an embarrassed, soft, genuine laugh, like the twinkle of a bell.

"I... I am sorry. You make it very easy to forget myself." 

Jesse smiled wider and rested his head under Hanzo's chin. 

"Yeah? Y'know, I never took ya for a sweet talker." He saw the blush appear on Hanzo's neck and chuckled. 

" _Chikuso_ ," Hanzo grumbled. "How much Japanese has Genji taught you?" 

McCree had to laugh harder. 

"Han, you were speakin' English for a lil' over half a that speech!" 

The blush deepened. 

"Can you pretend that you did not hear me?"

McCree broke out now in actual laughing, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

"No chance, _mi cielito_!" 

"I suppose I must learn Spanish," Hanzo grumbled, his hand over his eyes as if hiding himself. 

"Don't worry, sugar," McCree said, kissing his chest, "I'll teach ya."

 

~

 

It took a lot of convincing and civil arguing and persuasion to get Hanzo to comply, but McCree pulled out his signature puppy eyes and Hanzo was finished. 

They walked into breakfast holding hands, Jesse doing his best to hide his awkward gait. It was not enough. Jamison was the first to notice. He took one look at Jesse, looked at his gait, looked at Hanzo, looked back to Jesse, then grabbed Roadhog's arm and shook it wildly. Not that he managed to move him, but Roadhog looked where he was pointing anyway. 

"Just loike I told ya, Roadie!" He heard the scraggly junker hiss into Roadhog's ear. "Another goddamn homo! Just like you!"

Roadhog let out a disagreeable huff. 

What a homo was, Hanzo didn't know, but it caught the attention of the rest of the table and they turned to look. Hanzo instinctively clenched his hand harder around McCree's and allowed the other one to hover a little higher like he was going to make a run for it, dragging McCree behind him. 

But the first gasp he heard wasn't appalled. Mei clapped her hands together gleefully and Hana sent out a signature smirk. 

"Congratulations," she said, and Ana nodded her head in approval. 

76 remained undeterred from his meal, and Angela quirked her head with a sweet smile on her lips. 

"It's good to see you two get along." 

Fareeha arrived to kiss Angela on the cheek- had they always been so familiar? Hanzo didn't remember it like that, but now that he looked back, he realized that yes, they were all over each other. How had he not noticed that they were a couple? 

Hanzo cleared his throat quietly, trying to shoo the red away from his ears at the publicity.

Genji was not there, and neither were the omnics, but Genji could still eat. Hanzo had seen him do it. He wondered briefly if he was simply out meditating again, but just as the thought occurred, he walked through the doors to outside, Zenyatta in tow. He paused when he noticed the two of them. 

Hanzo stared him down, eyebrows furrowed. He dared him silently to say something, but he just reached out and grabbed Zenyatta's hand, quirking his head to the side. 

Was that his version of a smile? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who left kudos or a comment. I checked my email every day to see how many kudos I had gotten, and every day there would be a new one, and that, my dear readers, is what keeps someone going. This fic might not have been finished if not for your support. So thank you all. Keep your hopes high and your heads higher.  
> ~Elizabeth Rose


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